


Deal with the Devil

by penrosewriter



Series: The Adventures of Janelock Holmes [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Established Relationship, F/M, Female John Watson, Femlock, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Genderbending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love, Reichenbach Feels, Romance, Sad, Sad Ending, Sad Sherlock, Sherlock's Violin, Suicide, Tragic Romance, girl!john
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-09-18 00:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9352709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penrosewriter/pseuds/penrosewriter
Summary: All lives end. All hearts are broken. And thus, a deal with the devil is sometimes necessary.





	1. This Far

**Author's Note:**

> And I'm back! After a lot of working through some ideas and different concepts, I present you "Deal with the Devil".

_A clap of thunder sounded. It reminded Jane of some sort of movie. The sort of movies where things go wrong, leaving the hero in the rain. Except, there wasn’t a hero. Not this time. Only a broken woman in an armchair._

_"Our last session was 18 months ago. I haven't heard anything from you. So why? Why did you come back?"_

_"Why? You-know why I am here." Jane tersely replied._

_When Ella merely gave a confused look, Jane felt her stomach clench. "...Do you watch Telly? Read the papers?"_

_"...occasionally. But that doesn't answer my questions."_

_"It really would be easier to say if...if you knew."_

_"Know what?"_

_Her hands clasped together, Jane felt her eyes fill with tears against her stubborn will. Breathing in and out, Jane felt her hands shaking. Looking out the window, Jane observed the crystal drops slide in patterns down the glass._

_"You need to get this out, Jane."_

_"Sherlock Holmes..." Jane began hoarsely before clearing her throat and trying again._

_"Yes?"_

_"My-my-fiancé..." Jane did not want to say it. Never did she think she would say it. But she had to. Had to admit the truth. She had come this far. This far with Sherlock, had gone through so much with him, only to find herself saying: "...is dead."_

_Jane hid her face with one of her hands as she tried to get the incessant flow of tears to stop._

*** 

It had been a trivial case really. Why Sherlock Holmes was getting national recognition for it, he knew not. It was ludicrous, honestly. Standing in the art gallery, Sherlock fought the impulse to shout at all the cameramen and reporters to sod off, and proceed to announce what he knew of each one of them. When Jane gave him the side-eye, Sherlock knew Jane was on to his plan and botched it.

“A small token of our gratitude.” A stuffy man in a suit smiled, giving him an elegantly wrapped box. 

Taking it, Sherlock huffed. 

“Diamond cufflinks. All of my cuffs have buttons.” 

“He means thank you.” Jane said, forcing a smile.

“Oh, do I?” Sherlock distantly asked. 

When Jane gave him a look that clearly meant: _‘Yes, you do’_ , Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly before muttering a thank you to the affronted man. 

As he started to walk away, Jane lightly stepped on his foot to remind him that they still had to take a photo. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock looked straight at the camera, waited for the sound of the click, and took his leave. 

*** 

Wife and husband both having an affair on each other. Wife tried to get rid of him by having an impossibly elaborate scheme to keep him from returning. To no avail, he was returned, safe and sound. The husband and wife wished this not to leak out to the press for the sake of their son. What people do for ‘love’, was beyond Sherlock.

“After my terrifying ordeal, I am just happy to be reunited with my wife and dearest son.” The banker gave a smile. 

“And we owe it all to one person-Sherlock Holmes.” 

Smiling shyly, a ten year old boy with shaggy brown hair and glasses offered him a small box. Rattling it, Sherlock looked at Jane. 

“Tie pin, I don’t wear ties.”

“Shh.” 

*** 

“Peter Ricoletti: number one on Interpol’s Most Wanted list since 1982. But we got him; and there’s one person we have to thank for giving us the decisive leads ... with all his customary diplomacy and tact!” Remembering the ordeals to get him, Jane leaned to Sherlock.

“Ooh, sarcasm.” 

“Yes.” Sherlock agreed, raising his eyebrow at Lestrade, who was bringing over a wrapped package.

“We all chipped in.” Lestrade grinned, passing it to him. Opening it, Sherlock’s lip curled at the sight of an abominable atrocity. 

“Oh.” Was all Sherlock could say. A hat. With two ear flaps, and plaid and black. It was one of the most awful things Sherlock had ever seen. Except for a coat he had once saw, covered in orange and black that reminded him of an ill skunk. 

“Put the hat on!” Someone shouting, cueing for enthusiastic cheering and expectation.

Looking at the hat, Sherlock froze up. He did not want to wear this hat in the least. And he did not like being in the spotlight, not at all. He once nearly hurled on the teacher because he had to give a speech in front of people. In the end, he had made three people cry, and one little girl dropped out of school. Glaring in the direction of Sally and Anderson, Jane had an inkling of who suggested this hat. As Sherlock glared at the hat, Jane murmured: 

“The sooner you put it on, the sooner we can go.”

At the mention of leaving, Sherlock begrudgingly put the hat on. If Jane wasn’t horridly nervous because she was in front of a camera, she might have laughed at just how forced the smile he wore was. It was more of a snarl than a smile. After the pictures were finally over and the reporters were finally leaving, Jane and Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Assuming it’s alright to go now.” Jane asked Lestrade.

“You don’t need to ask Lestrade, we can bloody well go.” Sherlock grouchily said, striding onwards. 

Tired, Jane followed as well. It was a little odd that so many of their cases were large scale ones as of late. Ones that placed Sherlock on the receiving end of the camera. Watching Sherlock’s eyes sweep over the London streets as the cab carried them home, Jane felt oddly consoled by it. At least neither of them were used to being in the direct spotlight. Hand coming up, Jane ruffled his curls. 

“Chinese sound alright?”

“Yes.” 

*** 

“Boffin Sherlock Holmes!” Sherlock cried, pacing back and forth, reading the paper.

“Boffin!” He repeated, throwing the paper down.

“Tabloid nicknames. It’s okay, a lot of people get them.”

“Why nicknames?” 

“Well…I suppose it’s a technique people use to try and personalise others, and give them a sense of familiarity.” 

“Why would they want to know me?” Sherlock asked, shaking his head. Picking up another paper, Sherlock put it down again. 

“And why the hat photo? Always the hat photo!” Picking up his hat, Sherlock rotated it a few times. Reading an article, Jane frowned and leaned in. 

It has ear flaps!”

“Sherlock…”

“It’s an ear hat, Jane!” 

“Sherlock.”

“What?”

“You read this one?” Jane asked, tossing it to him.

Picking it up, Sherlock read. 

_Love for detective? Mr. Sherlock Holmes has been spotted kissing Ms. Jane Watson in London. According to one onlooker, "they were all over each other—snogging and hugging—even though there were 20 people coming and going.” You really have to see the pictures to believe them, but we are already totally into this pairing._

“Ms. Jane Watson.” Sherlock smirked. “You’re upset they called you Ms.?” 

“I don’t care about that. I care about them prying their nose into our personal life! It isn’t any of their ruddy business, and I don’t understand why it should matter to them.” 

“I don’t understand why you should care.” 

“Sherlock, I don’t think you get it. The press always turns on people. And, believe it or not, the press will turn against you. Guaranteed, it is going to happen. Because this hat isn’t a deerstalker anymore, it is a Sherlock Holmes hat.”

Looking at the hat, it seemed to have a slightly ominous feeling to it. Looking at the concern in Jane’s face, Sherlock wondered just how anxious she felt. 

"You have to face the facts Sherlock! You aren’t a private detective anymore. You are so close to almost being famous-internationally!" Jane informed him, tapping his picture in the paper. 

“It matters to you.” 

“What does?”

“What people think of me. It bothers you?”

“Yes, it does.” 

“Why should it matter to you?”

 _Maybe because I love you and I worry about you, like a proper girlfriend._ Jane thought, irritated, but decided it wise not to say these words at this time.

"You need to take a break from larger cases. Find yourself a small one for a few weeks, okay?" 

Snorting, Sherlock put his violin down. 

“I do. The Reichenbach painting was found by accident.” Sherlock insisted. 

“We thought the Ricoletti case was just about a serial rapist.” Jane added.

“Yes…” Sherlock trailed off, lost in thoughts.

While he was thinking, Jane gathered up all the papers and magazines. Lighting the fire, Jane fed the flames. It would not do to just sit around dwelling on what people were saying. 

“We should ask Mrs. Turner not to give us anymore of this rubbish.” Jane noted, more to herself than to Sherlock.

*** 

A few days passed. And as promised, Sherlock did very well to stay out of the papers. They handled small cases, and then return to Baker Street. When Sherlock received an offer that had even a mention of national security, they would show him the door. 

After getting a shower, Jane wrapped herself up in a bathrobe and went out to the kitchen to make some coffee. After their incredibly late night, Jane was completely exhausted. Catching a lunatic fisherman was never easy.

“Morning Sherlock.” Jane greeted him. Noticing the coffee pot was already brewing, Jane cracked a smile and poured herself a mug. Looking into his microscope, Sherlock was observing a sample of a soil he had collected the previous night.

“So, you just talk to him for an incredibly long while?” Jane asked wryly, sitting in her armchair with the paper. 

Looking up, Jane watched the plastic mannequin dangle on a noose from the ceiling. 

“Not much. Oh, Henry Fishguard never committed suicide.” Sherlock added, holding up a hard cover book before slamming it back onto the table. 

“Bow Street Runners, I missed everything.”

“Then who killed him?” Jane frowned. She was certain that it had been suicide. Picking up a suicide prevention book, Sherlock tapped it.

“Page 234 explains why it wasn’t him.”

“Sure thing.” Shaking her head, Jane was reading an article on the rising prices of produce, when Sherlock’s phone chimed. 

“You got a text.” 

“Noted.” A few minutes later, it chimed again.

“Are you ever going to get it?” Jane queried, watching his phone once again light up.

When Sherlock didn’t answer, Jane sighed and got up, checking his phone. Looking at the text message, Jane felt her heart skip a beat. Course this would happen. It had always been a matter of when. And here it was, staring them right in the face. Walking into the kitchen, Jane reached her hand out so he’d take his phone from her. Ignoring Jane, Sherlock kept looking into his microscope. 

“Sherlock.” 

“Not now.” 

“You need to look at this text.”

“I am busy.” Sherlock pithily replied. 

“It’s from him.” Jane quietly said, her voice laced in near panic. Eyes darting up, Sherlock took the phone.

_Sent 11:15 AM:_

_Come and play._

_Tower Hill._

_Jim Moriarty x._

Getting up immediately, Sherlock looked over at Jane.

“Go get dressed. We’re leaving in five minutes.”  



	2. Moratorium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They await the court date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As they await the court date, many things are on Sherlock's mind. Not necessarily just the upcoming court date however

Arriving, Sherlock and Jane hurried out of the cab, running to the sight. They arrived just in time to watch none other than Jim Moriarty being escorted into a police car, Lestrade watching solemnly. Striding towards Lestrade, Sherlock ignored the fact that Moriarty was watching him, a beady look in his eye. As Lestrade greeted him, Sherlock cut him off and continued walking.

“How do you even know where the security room is??” Lestrade exclaimed, following.

“Because I’m Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock replied, entering the lift, Jane and Lestrade not far behind. Sitting by the computer, Sherlock waited for Lestrade to pull up the videos.

“And you’re saying Pentonville Prison and Bank of England were breached at the same time?” Jane shook her head.

Just how much power did Jim Moriarty have?

“Too much.” Sherlock muttered to Jane’s unspoken question.

As soon as the security camera footage was up, they watched the whole scene play out. It started when he had snuck in as a tourist, and proceeded to break into impenetrable glass.

“A diamond…” Sherlock whispered.

“What?”

“He used a diamond to break the glass.”

“Before that...did you notice Moriarty writing something?” Jane had not paid attention to it much the first time.

“Yes, scroll back.” He motioned with his hand at Lestrade.

Rewinding the video, Lestrade paused it so Jane and Sherlock could have a good look at what was written. _GET SHERLOCK_ it read. And in the “O”, a smiley face was drawn. Glancing over at Sherlock and the way he stared at the words, Lestrade heaved a sigh and turned off the video.

“Look, I know this’ll be…tough. But you know what this means, don’t you?”

“When’s the court date?” Sherlock questioned.

“Dunno yet. But it’ll come, and soon.” Closing his eyes, Sherlock sat there for a moment. Then, standing up, he began to walk away. Waiting until Sherlock was gone, Jane turned to Lestrade.

“Isn’t there some way to get him out of this? He’s horrible with people, and imagine him in court of all things! Besides…” Double checking if Sherlock was eavesdropping, her voice lowered a notch. “He…Moriarty scares him.”

When Lestrade’s eyes widened, Jane gave him a warning glare.

“What was said in this room, stays. But… is there any way at all, that he could get out of it?”

“Sorry, but no. Sherlock kinda has to, ‘cause of that message. Now, if someone else testified as well, our case against Moriarty could be good enough to get him at least a few years in prison.”

“Okay…” Jane backed to the door.

“Thanks, Greg. Catch you later.”

What she had on him could put him in jail for at least ten years.

***

Forty-Eight hours later, and not a word from Sherlock on Moriarty. A recurring pattern of his. If there was something Sherlock didn’t want to speak of, he’d refer to things as ‘it’, or ‘that thing’, or the occasional ‘The Woman’. This was something that simply could not be swept under the rug. He had been waiting and waiting for Moriarty to rise out of the water. And now that he was here, Sherlock wanted nothing to do with that fact. He was afraid that Moriarty would not be put behind bars. That he would not serve justice. Jane had been worried about that fact as well. Jim Moriarty was a dangerous man, and it would be hard to convict him. Unless...

“Might as well spit out whatever you’re trying not to say.” Sherlock spoke for the first time in several hours.

Clearing away their plates, Jane tried to keep her hands busy. She didn’t know if she wanted to see Sherlock’s reaction to her decision.

"Court is in 6 weeks." Jane begun, putting the dishes into the sink.

Scribbling something down in a notebook, Sherlock was looking at soil samples from various gardens. He already had looked over the samples dozens of times. At this point, Jane knew Sherlock was fixated on avoiding the topic of court.

"Sherlock...I've been thinking."

"I thought I smelt something burning."

Ignoring his snarky remark, she started washing the dishes. "I'd like to testify."

Head snapping up, Sherlock stared at her. "What? Why would you do an idiotic thing like that?"

Expected reaction. Undeterred, Jane pushed on. "It's what people do when they want people in prison."

"And how do you plan on doing that? Just your word against Moriarty's, no evidence, and nothing for the jury to go off of!" Sherlock said, an almost angry chuckle in his voice. 

"Sherlock, it wouldn't be impossible to find evidence. We could do it." She argued, turning off the tap.

“We could. If you are planning on locating usable and concrete evidence, then filing a report to police, wait for that report to be deciphered as official evidence, and then called to the stand as a witness.”

“Not impossible.” Jane repeated.

"Is that a case for me then?" Sherlock challenged her.

"If it has to be for you to do it, then yes." Grabbing a tea towel, Jane dried a spoon.

"Then I decline your case." Sherlock informed her, pushing out of his seat and going into the living room.

Staring at him, Jane looked confused and almost hurt. Spoon going into the drying rack, she sat down in her chair and looked up at him inquisitively. Practically seeing the thought bubble over her head, Sherlock continued.

“I don't want you to testify in court."

“Why not?"

Not answering for a moment, Sherlock stared out the window. Sitting across from her, Sherlock put his hands to his chin, and stared into her eyes.

"There is one thing that you _must_ understand. Moriarty is a spider. He collects food that stumble in his web, wraps them up, and saves them for later. He knows precisely what he is doing."

"And...By not testifying, I am..."

"Safe." Sherlock finished.

"Sherlock, I don't care about being safe! What I care about is seeing criminals like Moriarty being put behind bars."

"And this, Jane Watson, is how you end up with semtex strapped to your chest!” Sherlock finally snapped, throwing his hands in frustration.

Raising her eyebrow angrily at him, her arms went to the defensive crossing. "Low blow, Sherlock. That isn't how you get people to do what you want."

Jaw clenching, Sherlock looked away. How could he get Jane to possibly understand? She was not the brightest being, but surely even Jane could understand just how dangerous and futile it would be to testify. After an immeasurably long silence, Sherlock spoke up.

“Sometimes ‘doing what’s right’, is sitting back and staying silent.”

“I don’t think I quite agree with you on that, Holmes. Everyone is too afraid of Moriarty to try and stop him! No one ever tries to stop Moriarty! It’s about high time someone did!”

With that, Jane rose and did her classic way of ending the conversation, by rising and going up the stairs to her room. Sherlock wondered if creativity would ever kick in for Jane Watson.

***

Early morning came. Jane had truthfully not slept much that night. She could not stop thinking of their argument, and the truth in Sherlock’s words. And people called Sherlock the stubborn and unpractical one. Getting dressed, Jane sighed and went down the stairs. Might as well swallow her pride and talk to Sherlock like a rational human being. Coming down quietly, she saw Sherlock (still dressed in the same black shirt and trousers as yesterday) working with a microscope and notepad.

"Have you worked all night?" Jane shook her head, watching him glare into the microscope. Mumbling something, he kept looking into the slides.

"Did you even take a break?" Ignoring her, he wrote out some data.

Shrugging, she went about making tea. Once the kettle boiled, she poured Sherlock and herself a mug and set his beside the microscope. Leaning back, Sherlock took the mug. As he drank, Jane got a good look at him. Hunched shoulders, bloodshot eyes, and his dark circles were the highlighting features of his face.

"Hey...why don't you let me have a go at it? You look tired."

"Hardly tired." Sherlock announced blearily. 

"You're going to strain your eyes. Either take a break, or let me look." At this, Sherlock seemed to consider her office. For extra incentive, Jane added:

"I have done plenty of work with microscopes before, I know how it works."

Giving her a sideways glance, Sherlock took a sip of his tea. Then, he tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose and moved to a different chair. Taking his seat, Jane peered into the microscope.

"Just how off is your vision? You don't even have it focused correctly." Jane reprimanded, looking into the scope.

"See anything?"

"Yes, I do. Give me a moment to look at it." Reading off the descriptions, Sherlock scratched out the information she gave.

"Examine the left side more closely and give me that analysis." Sherlock instructed.

"Alright, it has more indications that it contains traces of Dimethylmercury."

"Dimethylmercury?”

"Yeah. But that's odd, because only chemists and researchers get their hands on this."

"It kills slowly. 1997, a student spilled a few drops on her hand. Ten months later, she died." Sherlock recited.

"Well, definitely put this one as a maybe then." Putting the sample away, Jane pulled out the next. As she peered into it, Jane grudgingly said what she had rehearsed before coming back downstairs.

“You’re right. Going up there won’t do anything for anyone. Won’t help either of us at all. I was being stupid.”

“That you were.” Sherlock agreed, only to earn a swift kick under the table.

“Just say ‘thank you’ and move on.” She grumbled.

“Thank you?” She was just now happy with him and straight back to unhappy. Female hormones, Sherlock decided, glancing over at Jane, who was griping into the microscope.

***

“Nothing! Not a single case!” Sherlock boomed, slamming Jane’s laptop shut in frustration.

“Oi! I only have one laptop!”

“Not a single case! No one’s husband has run off, no kittens missing, no national secret unfurled, nothing!”

The day before the trial. The trial of the century, apparently. And, at this point, Sherlock was willing to do just about anything to take his mind off his impending doom. His mind flitted back to the days where it was just him living in 221B.

The days where a seven percent solution would be an easy fix to his problems. Getting up, Sherlock walked to Yorick, and put his hand on his lambda. Lifting it, Sherlock found nothing. Of course there was nothing. Putting the skull back down, Sherlock gave a huff of frustration. None of Sherlock’s actions seemed to surprise Jane Watson. In fact, it looked as if she expected it.

“Sherlock…let’s go to Speedy’s.”

“Speedy’s? Why? I’m not even hungry.”

Getting up, Jane put on her jacket. “I think the change of scenery will do some good for us.”

“Ridiculous. There’s no reason we should-”

When Jane gave him a look that Sherlock couldn’t quite place, he bit his lip.

“Very well. Perhaps a case will pop up down there. Who knows, a reoccurrence of the Arabian assassin?”

“The one who escaped to Bermuda?”

“Yes.”

Ordering eggs and coffee for herself, and Sherlock just tea, they sat in a back table. Eating, Jane looked as if her mind were a million miles away. When Jane cast yet another sympathetic look his way, Sherlock remembered a similar scenario they were once in. A long time ago (or what seemed a long time ago), Sherlock had taken Jane to breakfast. He had gotten the idea from his own parents. Whenever his mother was upset, Sherlock’s father would always take her to breakfast. For all the terrible and wrong things his parents had always done, that was one of the few things his father did right.

Quietly, Sherlock watched Jane sip her coffee and read the paper. He had not thought much of Jane upon first meeting her. A soldier, a doctor, a woman with nerves of steel. But Sherlock had never thought it quite possible that he had barely scratched the surface of who Jane really was. A grief stricken woman on the brink of destruction. Her hair in a tight bun, making her look stricter then she actually was. Her face was rugged and severe, the hard lines of war on her face. She always stood rigidly, her walking stick always by her. Her gun was at the bedsit, he deduced, always in a drawer she used. A constant reminder easy way out. No bills, no angry mothers, and no more nightmares. Every day that she lost hope was a day closer to opening that drawer a lot.

Clenching his fists under the table, Sherlock imagined where he might be now without the curious doctor by his side. She was someone he would not mind so much waking up next to. Waking up next to her for the next five, twenty, thirty years. Solving cases together, and fighting and bickering. And perhaps the only person Sherlock had sentimental attachment to. All of the facts boiled down to a logical solution for Sherlock. He’d…

“Listen to this Sherlock…a woman in Cincinnati found links to the ‘Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run’. Turns out, the man was her great-uncle.” Jane then proceeded to read off the entire article. Hiding his smirk, Sherlock took a sip of coffee and let Jane read off a case that Sherlock had solved years ago. He had always wondered when that woman in Cincinnati would ever take the truth to the press.

***

_“Who are you?”_

_“Jim Moriarty-hi!!”_

_Lunging, Jane caught Moriarty by the throat, holding him there._

_“Move one muscle, and we go up together.” She hissed in his ear._

_“Adorable.”_

_Turning effortlessly, Moriarty head-butted her. Dazed, Jane stumbled back. Taking that chance, Moriarty took her by the neck and cracked her skull over and over onto the pavement. Watching the way her blonde hair dragged in her own blood, Sherlock suppressed a gag. And the worst part was, Sherlock could do nothing. Couldn’t even scream. All he could do was watch. When Jane’s eyes did not close, Moriarty smirked and stood up._

_“I will burn you-burn the heart out of you.”_

_“No…”_

_Kicking the body of Jane Watson into the pool, Moriarty and Sherlock watched the pool turn a deep crimson. Raising his hands over his head, Sherlock dived into the red waters._

Bolting awake, Sherlock sat up, sweating. Breath ragged, Sherlock got out of bed, his throat on fire. Looking out his open window, Sherlock looked at the sky and decided it must be three in the morning. Seven more hours until court. Knowing there was no possible method of returning to sleep, Sherlock slung on his blue robe and went out into the main part of the flat.

Upon coming out, Sherlock realised he was not alone. Sitting on her chair, the Telly pulled out, Jane was half watching. He suspected the Telly was just on to keep her company.

“ _Diamonds are Forever_.” Jane said, turning to look up at him.

“And you were the one to suggest turning in early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” She shrugged. Sitting in his chair, Sherlock watched the dramatic scene play out. He had never been one for James Bond.

“Only movies my brothers and I could ever agree on.”

Watching Bond heroically save a woman, Jane bemusedly watched Sherlock’s reaction. “Her neck would snap in real life.”

“It’s just a movie.” Jane snorted.

“Yes, if they’re going to waste millions so people can watch a man in a suit save women and solve simple crimes, they should very well try to stave onto the little realities our stark lives present."

“The glory of a James Bond movie.” Jane sighed, kicking up her feet.

“If you’re going to waste your brain cells watching Telly, you might as well watch something actually beneficial.”

“Such as those ‘who are the father’ rubbish you love? How are they beneficial?”

“Those are useful for honing in deductive reasoning based on ascertaining falsified truths for audience, and discovering the unspoken truths based on body language, eye contact, and wording.”

“Yeah, but can’t you do that with a James Bond movie as well?”

“Yes, as the Bond character having an affair with the makeup woman.”

“Sorry, what??” Jane blinked, looking at the character and then at Sherlock.

“How can you tell that?”

When Sherlock went onto another rant, Jane stifled a smile. It was nice to see Sherlock focusing on something other than Jim Moriarty for a brief moment. She wished he knew that Moriarty only could have as much control over Sherlock as Sherlock allowed. Watching the movie, Jane heard Sherlock moving his chair next to Jane’s.

“It’s easier to see.” Sherlock explained to Jane’s query.

As the movie drew to a close, Jane checked her watch. Only four in the morning. Why couldn’t the morning come any faster?

“ _Live and Let Die_?” She suggested, taking out a new disc.

When only a slight snore was heard, Jane saw Sherlock had fallen asleep, his head lulled back and mouth slightly open. Taking her plaid blanket, Jane draped it over him. Her hand smoothing through his hair, Jane leaned in and pressed a lasting kiss to his temple.

“He only will get to you as much as you let him. Don’t be afraid of him.”

Her hand lowering to her side, Jane sat back in her chair and started the movie. Whatever happened tomorrow, she was ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all liked it! I'm trying to crank out some shorts, so expect some to come your way soon! :)


	3. What do You See?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Last chapter I said I was writing out a short...which held up this chapter. But, today you will get a short story AND a new chapter, tomorrow!! Enjoy!!

Hearing the sound of the shower and Jane’s off-key singing, Sherlock knew morning had come at last. And now, three hours until court. Rubbing out the uncomfortable wrick in his neck, Sherlock got off his chair, stretching.

“You’re up Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson asked, carrying up a tray.

“Yes.” Sherlock croakily answered, kicking his chair to its normal spot with his foot.

“Made you and Jane some breakfast. Thought it might be good to get something down before you go up there.” Setting down the tray, Mrs. Hudson waited for Sherlock to come and eat.

Sitting down, Sherlock dished himself out some oatmeal and milk. Going into the living room, Mrs. Hudson started cleaning up. An indication that even Mrs. Hudson was worried for the outcome. Coming out of the washroom, Jane looked severely different from how she often dress. The hair that just barely swished over her shoulder blades was pinned into a tight military bun. Her navy skirt and blazer were straight and neat as a pin.

“Morning.” She greeted him briskly, dishing herself a helping of breakfast.

Upon closer observation, she was also wearing powder and mascara. Her poor attempt at trying to show authority over her situation. The fact that she could walk into a room and everyone would be at attention, mascara was a futile attempt to enhance that feature of personality.

“So,” Sherlock was broken from his thoughts by Jane. “We’re supposed to be there at ten?”

“Yes.”

Not in the mood for conversation from anyone, he got up to go take a shower.

***

"Don't they ever just go away?" Jane whispered as she peeked under the curtains.

"Why are you whispering?" Sherlock asked, adjusting his suit jacket.

"I...I don't know." Jane admitted.

“Stop looking through the curtains. They’re not going to disappear.”

Rising, Jane stepped to the mirror and smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirt and adjusted her blazer. Staring at her through the mirror, Sherlock thought he gave no waver of how he thought or felt. Catching his eye briefly, Jane could see the tiniest gleam of anxiety. The tiniest quiver on his lips, or the fidgeting of his hands. Sherlock Holmes, was quite nervous. Seeing a police car arriving, Jane nodded at Sherlock and slipped on her pumps.

"Let's go." Going down the stairs, Sherlock stopped at the doorway. Facing him, Jane stepped closer into his space. Bringing her hands up, Jane smoothed out a crinkle in his blazer. Her left hand slid up and cupped the side of his face.

"It's going to be okay.” She reassured him, her thumb caressing the side of his face.

Even as he stared into her hopeful eyes, Sherlock knew there was nothing to even hope in. Jim Moriarty was right where he wanted to be. He had the spotlight, the crowd, and the jester. All that he needed for the theatrical.

Hand going back to her sides, Jane gained the composure of a soldier going into a battlefield.

"Ready?" She asked firmly.

"Yes." Sherlock managed.

Door opening, Jane glared against the flashing bulbs and hurried her way through the crowd.

"Mr. Holmes! A statement! Statement!!" The reporters yelled and cried, their cameras like lightning. Brushing through the crowds, they barely made it into the police car.

Watching Sherlock’s rigid composure and the way his fingers tapped on his knee, she knew the police car was just the icing on the cake. Sherlock absolutely detested being in police cars, so this should be a wonder for his nerves.

"Remember-"

"-Yes." Sherlock interrupted.

"Don't make any trouble-"

"-Yes."

"-And do not go over. Keep it simple and to the point. Don’t be smart."

"The only witness shouldn't be intelligent after all." Sherlock sarcastically noted.

"They aren't looking to see if you're intelligent. They just want to see if you know what happened." When it was apparent Sherlock wasn't actually listening, Jane huffed and looked out the window. When they finally arrived, Jane had to prod Sherlock to leave the cab. Getting past the reporters, they finally made it in.

"Alright, this is where we part. Good luck, mate."

Nodding at him, Jane took her leave. Watching her walk away, Sherlock felt oddly lonesome. Shaking it off, he looked around the big courtroom. Heading into the washroom, Sherlock did not notice a figure from a near distance, who was watching.

***

Washing his hands, Sherlock mentally steeled himself for the courtroom. No matter what he said, Moriarty would walk off free. Not even attempting to set him behind bars would put Sherlock on the losing side. And he could not have that. Hearing a bag drop, Sherlock turned and looked behind him. A woman was in the restroom.

"You're him." She breathed. Taking a look at her, Sherlock scowled in contempt. He knew exactly who she was.

"Wrong toilet." He said stiffly.

"I am a big, big fan."

"Evidently."

"I read all of your cases. Every. Single. One. Sign my shirt?" She murmured, a pen already in hand. Peeling back part of her blazer, Sherlock noted that her "blouse" was quite low, if you could even call it that.

"Two types of fans I have met. Type A: Catch me before I kill again."

"And Type B?"

"My bedroom is a taxi ride away."

"Ah, how clever. And guess where I am in that department?" In a throaty voice, she swiped the tip of the pen across Sherlock’s bottom lip.

"Neither, actually."

"Uh-really?" She blinked in surprise.

"No, you aren't a fan at all. You work for a newspaper. Indention on your right hand, smudge mark on wrist, which was deliberately put there for me to deduce." Taking her wrist, he sniffed the ink. "Oil based, typically used in print. Rubbed on with your index finger. A journalist. Unlikely you'd get your hands dirty at the press."

"Kitty Riley." She introduced, taking off her hat, and extending her hand.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"Saving you the trouble of asking. No, I won't do an interview; no, I won't talk to you.

" Brushing past her, he went for the door. Way ahead of him, she blocked the door.

"And here's another thing-you and Jane, really not a couple? I put you on a 'no' on that?"

Now she was really starting to grate on his nerves. Jane already had too much on her plate. To add yet another speculating rumour would do no good. Sherlock decided he'd stop Kitty Riley right here.

"All sorts of gossip circulating about you. Sooner or later, you really will need someone on your side." Kitty continued, slipping a card into his breast pocket.

"And you think you're the girl for that?"

"I'm smart, and you can totally trust me."

Trust her? For her to show up out of the blue, and for Sherlock to ‘totally’ trust her. Ironically, she attempted to trick him upon their meeting. And now, he was to trust her? Snorting a bit, he tilted his head and looked at her.

"Really? Ambitious, sure. Clever, perhaps. Smart though. If you're smart, tell me what you see then. Deduce me." Sherlock challenged, stepping back. When she looked down and hesitated, he pushed on.

"Hmm...No? Okay, my turn then. I look at you and I see someone who’s still waiting for their first big scoop so that their editor will notice them. You’re wearing an expensive skirt but it’s been re-hemmed twice, the one posh skirt you’ve got. And your nails? You can’t afford to do them that often. I see someone who’s hungry. I don’t see smart, and I definitely don’t see trustworthy, but I’ll give you a quote if you like, three little words."

He hated people like this. People who pretended to be his friend. People who told him they liked him, only to gain something from him. Those were the people he hated the most. He preferred the slew of names and the hatred over false praise. At least those people were honest in how they truly felt. Taking her recorder, he pushed play.

"You. Repel. Me." With that, he left the teary eyed girl and stalked away.

***

"Ask me how. How would I describe him? What opinion I hold of him. Do they really not teach you this?"

Jane resisted to put her head down against the chair in front of her. She told him. Bloody told the git not to be like this. Why couldn't he just answer questions like an ordinary person? Tuning them out for a moment, Jane's attention was returned as Sherlock said something. Something, which caught Jane's concerns and attention.

"Jim Moriarty isn't a man at all. He is a spider at the centre of a web-a criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances."

He had told Jane that as well before. And how he hated repeating himself. If he had to say something twice, what a spider Moriarty truly was. Smirking, Moriarty watched Sherlock with the patience of a mother.

"And how long have you-?"

"-Oh no. No, that is not a good question."

"Mr. Holmes! Please answer the question!" The judge angrily said.

"How long have I known him? Five minutes in total. I pulled a gun on him, he tried to blow me up. I believe we have what people call 'something special'."

A giggle rose through the courtroom. Looking up at Jane again, Sherlock rose his eyebrows, waiting for her reaction. Crossing her arms and leaning back, Jane tried her best to look unamused.

"Sherlock...why are you doing this?" Jane whispered to herself.

"Are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just five minutes?"

"Two would make me an expert. Five minutes was really ample time for me."

"That's a matter for the jury." The judge replied.

"Really?" Sherlock then went into a quick fire of deduction of the jury. A bit embarrassing for some, as one pair seemed to be having an affair.

"Mr Holmes. You’ve been called here to answer Miss Sorrel’s questions, not to give us a display of your intellectual prowess."

At this, Sherlock had to look up at Jane. _His expression clearly read: He thinks I have intellectual prowess!_

Jane's expression read: _You are about to be arrested, please shut up and answer the questions._

 _If he looks at me one more time, I might need to change my seat._ Jane thought to herself.

"Answer brief and to the point. Anything else will be treated as contempt! Now, you think you could survive just a few minutes, without showing off??" The judge's voice raised to a shout.

For a brief moment, it seemed Sherlock would cooperate. Until he looked at Jane with a cheeky gleam in his eye and opened his mouth again.

***

"Don't be clever. Don't make trouble. I specifically said that." Jane said as Sherlock collected his things.

"Yes."

“Hope you’re happy, now that you aren’t allowed back in court.”

“Quite so. It’s abnormally cold in that court room, isn’t it?” Sherlock asked, returning his phone to his pocket.

“You are impossible.” Jane closed her eyes as they walked.

“Nothing is more imminent than the impossible, what we must always foresee is the unforeseen.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” “Ah Jane. You are not the brightest of creatures, but even you could have seen this coming.” Ignoring the insult, Jane gave a tired sigh.

“What did I not see coming?”

“No. The question is, what did you see coming?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” Sighing, Jane walked outside, Sherlock following.

“That you would be a smart-arse and deduce that the judge was having an affair with a member of the court??”

“That too. There is more, though. Something you refuse to acknowledge.” Jane knew what Sherlock was getting at. And Jane still was not willing to talk about it.

“You want a cuppa?” Jane asked, heading to a coffee stand.

“What do you see, Jane?” Sherlock asked again. Stopping, she turned to look at him.

“Hope. Even if it’s just for the next few hours, I want a few more hours believing in the possibility of putting this-monster behind bars. He has got to be stopped. It isn’t a game, it isn’t fun. It’s a never ending nightmare for so many people.”

Sherlock knew it himself. It was a nightmare. A nightmare, that Sherlock was not sure he could stop. But worse than a nightmare, Sherlock knew it would turn into something much worse. A reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The short should be out tomorrow! Thanks for reading!!


	4. Tea and Apples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The verdict is called

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am incredibly sorry at how long it took to update. I have been very busy as of late. For a while, these updates might take longer than once a week, and I'm sorry for that. But enough about my life!! Please enjoy the chapter! :)

"You must find him...guilty...guilty..." Sherlock whispered.

"Find who guilty?" Looking over at Jane's chair, he saw Rose sitting here, reading a book.

"What are you doing here??" Sherlock demanded.

"Mum said I should come over to keep you company!"

So she could go and get her grocery shopping done. Scowling, Sherlock looked at the intruder.

"I don't need company."

“’Course you do!! You get pretty lonely without Aunt Jane huh?”

"Oh please." Huffing at the child's idiocy, he attempted to retreat to his mind palace, but to no avail.

"'I miss Jane so, so, so, so, much!! What do I ever do without her?!'" Giving a dramatic interpretation of Sherlock, Rose donned a scowl and put her fingers to her chin.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?" Blinking innocently at him, Rose begun prattling away at silly nothings.

Tuning her out, Sherlock's thoughts drifted back to Moriarty. He was brought back to earth by the question:

"So, when are you and Aunt Jane going to marry??"

When he closed his eyes and did not answer, Rose scrunched up her face and stalked over to him.

“You-can’t just go into your magic kingdom every time you don’t wanna talk!”

“Marriage is merely the signing of a certificate by two people who are already aware of the other’s emotional attachment and dependency of the other. Marriage, in which 42%, including your parents, decide not to stay married. Thus, neither Jane nor I desire a life in which we are legally bound to each other for an unforeseeable future.”

Face reddening, Rose took her shoe off and threw it at his head.

“Ow!!”

“You-are such a complete idiot!! You guys already don’t want to leave each other!!! Aunt Jane went back to Grandmum’s and hated it! She missed you the whole time! And whenever she’s gone, you miss her a lot! You don’t like being apart! So you need to marry her because I know you love her, and because she loves you!! Why else would she go to that stuffy old court?!” Rose lectured until she was blue in the face.

Then, snatching up her shoe, she ran down the stairs, slamming the door. Raising his eyebrow, Sherlock wondered if Rose was more like Clara or Jane. The similarities of the Watson family… were not lost on Sherlock.

***

“…We’re not calling any witnesses.” Frustrated, Jane shook her head.

After multiple testimonies and evidence against Jim Moriarty, a defensive position would be helpful for Moriarty. However, he chose not to have them. As if sensing Jane was in the room, Moriarty turned and cast his dark eyes at her. Staring at her, he gave her a wink, before turning back around. Clenching her fists, Jane sneakily pulled her mobile out.

_Sent 11:42 AM: verdict will probably be announced in about an hour_

Sitting out on the bench, Jane waited to be called back into court. Chances were she could be stuck on the bench for at least an hour or two. As she waited, she saw everyone streaming into court.

“That was…only six minutes.” Jane noted, checking her watch.

“Surprised they took that long to be honest! A good cue for the loo, eh?”

Walking in with everyone else, Jane took her seat. As the murmurs quieted, the dreaded yet anticipated question was given.

“Has the jury come to a decision?”

“We have.” The jury said solemnly, face ashen.

Somewhere in the words, the phrase _Not Guilty_ was spoken, causing shocked whispers and shouts of outrage, Jane’s included. Clenching her fists, she watched the handcuffs fall off of Moriarty, like a spider, ready to climb back up the waterspout. Getting up, Jane made her way to the exit. As she went on, she felt someone bump into her.

"Sorry..." a lowly voice said. Giving her a smug smile, Moriarty bemusedly watched her grow pale with anger. Walking on, he opened the court doors with a flourish and stepped on to freedom.

Phoning Sherlock, Jane stalked out of the court. Looking around, she saw that Moriarty had vanished.

"Not guilty!! They found him not guilty!!"

Heart thumping, Jane looked desperately around for a cab. She knew what this meant. Moriarty would go straight after Sherlock now that he was free.

"You need to get ready! Chances are, he's going to our place right now! Sherlock!" Hearing the other line go dead, Jane shook her head before trying to haul another cab that passed her. Why couldn't she get a cab??

***

He knew he was coming. Sherlock would be offended if he did not come. Turning on the kettle, Sherlock dug through the cabinets and pulled out Jane's British tea set. Putting it on a tray, Sherlock poured the steaming water into the elegant tea pot. Placing the set by the chairs, Sherlock unlatched the violin case and began to play.

A few minutes later, he heard a creak on the stairs. Jane always avoided that particular stair, Mrs. Hudson and Clara had gone out shopping, and Rose was doing schoolwork. It only left one other option. After pausing for a moment, Sherlock continued playing. Hearing the door swing open, Sherlock played the final strain with a flourish before lowering his hand.

"Most people would knock." Placing his violin back in the case, he locked it into place. "But, then again, you aren't most people, are you?"

Walking in further, Moriarty scooped up an apple and walked over.

“Please, sit.” Sherlock said, motioning to Jane’s chair.

When Moriarty ignored him and sat in Sherlock’s seat instead, Sherlock fought back the urge to sneer.

“Nice place.” Moriarty sarcastically noted.

“You would know. You’ve been here before.”

“Yeah. But…it’s gotten a bit too…female looking for my taste, I suppose.”

Begrudgingly, Sherlock sat down as Moriarty began carving into his apple with a pocket knife.

"Johann Sebastian Bach would be appalled. You know, when he was dying, he heard his son playing one of his pieces in the next room, but he stopped before it was finished."

"-And he jumped up and finished the piece for him."

"Couldn't leave well enough alone, huh?"

"Neither could you, that's why you're here."

“Admit it, you’re a bit pleased.”

“With the verdict?”

“With me, of course. Because, every fairy tale needs a good old fashioned villain. You need me. Or else, you are _nothing_.”

Looking down, Sherlock poured crème and sugar into his tea.

“You already knew what the verdict would be, obviously.” Moriarty continued, sipping his tea

“Of course. If you broke into the Tower of London…”

“It wouldn’t be incredibly hard to worm into a few hotel rooms. Everyone has a pressure point. Easy-Peasy.”

“So…” Sherlock preferred to get to the point of the confrontation, rather than idly sip tea and chat. “How do you plan to do it? How do you plan to…burn me?”

“Oh well, that’s the final problem. You know what it is already, don’t you?”

His first thought was of Jane. But that would be such an obvious conclusion that it couldn’t possibly be it. Besides Jane, he knew a thousand other things could be a final ‘problem’. The question is, what?

“I did tell you…but did you lis-ten?” Moriarty gave a little sing-song and tapped rhythmically on his knee. Eyes narrowing, Sherlock stared at Moriarty’s hand, then meeting his gaze, Sherlock gave him the steely eye.

“Now how hard is it for you to say, ‘I don’t know’?”

“I don’t know.” Sherlock smartly replied, putting his tea cup back on its saucer.

“Ooh, good one, that’s clever.” Moriarty gave a little laugh. “Speaking of clever, have you told your little friends yet? Why I broke in to all of those places?”

“No.”

“But you know, don’t you?”

“Obviously.”

“Go on then,” Moriarty motioned at him with his pocket knife.

“You want me to tell you what you already know?” He challenged.

“No. I want to see if you can _pro_ ve that you know.” Moriarty impatiently waited for Sherlock’s answer.

“You don’t need to take anything because you already own everything.”

“Good.”

“Because nothing, nothing in the Tower of London, Bank of England, or Pentonville Prison can give you what you already have.”

“Good, good. All because of a few lines of computer code. No such thing as a secret for me, as I own that too. I could blow up every country in alphabetic order. In a world with locked rooms, the man with the key is king, and honey, you should see me in a crown.”

“And the entire court process was nothing but an advertisement you might find in the Sunday papers. Showing the world what you can do.”

“And you were helping me too, thanks. Intelligence operations, rogue governments, terrorists, they all want me now.” Moriarty gave a gruesome smile.

“If you could break in anywhere, then why do you need the highest bidder?”

“Please, I just like watching them compete for me. ‘Daddy loves me the best!!’, and so on.”

“Why are you doing this?” Sherlock asked in a hushed voice.

“Aren’t ordinary people adorable?? I want one a bit. But, you got Jane around. A little sex doll to keep you busy. I should get myself a live-in one."

Sherlock refused to let what Moriarty's words sink in. Jane was a woman of integrity, and overly high morals. She would not hand her body away to anyone in that nature. The only thing Moriarty found women good for was for sex. And that, was one of the few ways Sherlock and Moriarty were not of the same dice.

“You don’t want money or power.”

“It’d be so funny…” Moriarty hummed, thinking about Jane.

“What is it all for?” Sherlock asked.

“It’s about us. You and me, the final problem. It’s going to start soon, you know. The Fall. Don’t get too scared though, because after you fall, it’ll just hurt for a second.”

"I've never liked riddles." Sherlock said, standing up.

He was thoroughly ready to see the retreating back of Jim Moriarty. Rising, Moriarty was near nose-to-nose with him.

"Learn to." Moriarty said in an orderly fashion. “Your doll included or not, I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I…owe…you.”

Placing the apple down, Moriarty strode out of the flat as if he were heading to the grocers. Watching Moriarty walk down the street, Sherlock felt anger bubble up in him. What was he planning? What did his warning even mean? And how, how could Moriarty break in anywhere in the country, for whatever he wanted? All for lines of computer code? Thinking of Moriarty’s earlier words regarding Jane, Sherlock’s eyes darkened.

“A sex doll…”

It was because of the nature of their relationship that Jane had comments thrown at her like this. Because of him, she had nearly gotten herself blown up. On multiple occasions, her life had been put in danger. All of these events, would lead to untimely death, just like Mycroft hinted at from time to time. But then…the simple statement of Rose. From the mind of a child, life was simpler. If you were passionate, pursue it. If he wanted something, get it. If he wanted to marry someone, he should do it.

Was life truly as simple as that? No. After all, marriage was only something people did to absolutely ensure the person would in some way remain bound together. Then, once marriage came, then domestic life would ensue, screaming children, and an overly stressed couple. And due to the stress of money or an aspect of the relationship, the couple would split, making it uncomfortable for everyone present? That was not the path Sherlock would pursue.

Picking up the apple, Sherlock turned it slowly in his hands. I O U was engraved into the apple. Three letters…what did they mean? Looking at the mess in the living room, Sherlock set to work. No need to tell Jane of his earlier escapade.

***

"Sherlock!! Are you okay?" Jane gasped as she threw open the door to 221B.

"Obviously, why would I be otherwise?"

"Moriarty is on the loose. The first place he'd go is here!"

"Sorry to disappoint, but as you can see, the flat is and was empty."

"Not guilty! Can you believe it?!" Jane continued, exasperated as she removed her blazer and tossed it on the chair.

"Of course I can. Of course he'd get off Jane. You really thought Moriarty would be incarcerated for such a petty theft?"

"Hardly a petty theft. ‘Crime of the Century', as everyone's been saying."

"Hm. Fluid concept.”

Stalking into the kitchen, Jane snapped the kettle on. Spotting a mouldy loaf of bread, Jane wrinkled her nose and checked to see if it was labelled as an experiment. When she saw nothing, she threw it in the bin. Catching sight of an apple, Jane frowned and picked it up. Sherlock always ate the entire apple, not just a bite. Seeing the letters I O U engraved into it, Jane frowned.

"What the..."

"Investigation of the lone badger." Sherlock explained, poking his head in the kitchen.

"The what?"

"The lone badger. Tuesday, a man was found dead on..." Sherlock then flew into a vivid description of the fake case. Raising her eyebrows, Jane threw the apple in the trash.

"Sounds riveting. Have you had tea yet?"

Tea with the Devil, yes.

"No."  
"I'll make you some." She offered.

As Jane waited for the tea to heat, she started putting away dishes in the drying rack. As she crouched down to put up a metal pan, she saw her china set pushed farther ahead than how it originally had been.

been.

“Weird, it always goes…”

Wait a moment. Her china set hadn’t been touched since her mother’s visit, nearly six months ago. It should be a bit dusty at this point. But it wasn’t. It was sparkling clean. Sherlock hated formal tea more than anything.

“His deductive skills are starting to rub off on me…” She mumbled, closing the cupboard.

Why had Sherlock used her tea set while she was gone? He said Moriarty hadn’t come. Spying on Sherlock from the kitchen, Jane saw how sad he seemed. What had happened in the time she was gone? When he caught her eye, he turned away and took out his violin.

As Jane chatted on the phone with her brother, Sherlock wrote music, played the violin, stopped playing to fix a note, and then would continue. At some point, Jane had disappeared to her room, Mrs. Hudson’s radio downstairs was clicked off, and Sherlock was left in the silence and his mind.

Looking at the clock, Sherlock sighed. When he finally wanted to sleep, he could not. So instead, he played. His hands cramped, and his eyes felt weary. Sherlock would not stop playing, until he knew what he would do. Sherlock would be lying to himself if he said he did not want anything to do with Jane. He did, he knew that much. Rose was right, he could not bear the notion of not having Jane with him. He worked better, could think and sort out issues more efficiently. Jane soothed his raw nerves, and brought a sense of practicality and order to his mind and Baker Street. Yet Moriarty...he knew he was planning something. Something was coming, and very soon.

How would Sherlock spend the remaining time he had at Baker Street? Putting away his violin, Sherlock watched the early morning light seep into the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys!! You are all fantastic!


	5. Prolepsis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I am NOT dead, I have just been incredibly busy. I also wrote and then rewrote the chapter over and over again. I've been a bit hesitant to post this as there were a thousand things I could have written. Enough rambling though, I hope you like it! Hopefully the length compensates for the time!

A solid month had passed since Moriarty walked out free. The press gave its outrage of Moriarty’s verdict for nearly two weeks, then it blew over. And since that day, not one word about Moriarty had reached Jane or Sherlock’s ears. And Jane didn’t find that the least bit of a relief. They had been too busy as of late to spend their time fretting. One case after the other flooded Jane’s inbox, and they rushed all over London to solve them. It was not until one fateful Friday, that another interesting twist of life happened. 

Running, Jane looked around for Sherlock. He had told her to meet him at an art festival of all things. Seeing his black coat, Jane walked over to him.

“I got your text.” 

“Obviously.” Taking her hand, Sherlock started walking. Raising her eyebrow at him, Jane kept walking as he casually looked at the paintings and pointed out unusual and interesting paintings. Not buying into it, Jane stopped at a clothes rack, making Sherlock come to a halt as well. 

"Okay. What are we doing here?" Jane finally asked with a sigh. 

"Browsing." Sherlock nonchalantly replied, sorting through some clothing. 

"For who? A criminal?" 

"Dominic Gabelle."

"And he is?" 

"He's nothing much. Your common rapist, looking for his next meal." 

"How many victims??" She exclaimed, pulling away from him suddenly.

"Looking for his fifteenth. Regular victims are middle aged women, retired veterans and college students.” Sherlock replied, retaking her hand. Anger boiling, Jane clenched her free hand tightly. What a sick, warped man. 

"Where is he? Just tell me and I-"

"Don't look at him, he'll know we're on to him." Sherlock said quickly, putting his hand on her neck to stop her. 

"It can't be too hard to stop this sick bas-"

"He hasn't been caught in the act yet. Unfortunately, he's the son of a prominent lawyer, who's been keeping his son's slate clean." Stopping, Jane pivoted on her heel and looked Sherlock dead in the eye. "So...you want me to be your minnow on the hook."

"If you don't mind."

"Not that I don't mind. But, how do we know if he'll go after me in particular?"

"Oh please, you're pretty enough. And he also likes the struggle." 

"Thanks." 

"I'll be right behind you, so don't be worried."

"Even if you weren't behind me, I'd be fine. You should worry about Dominic Gabelle. Is he armed?" Jane stretched, before cracking her knuckles. 

"A semi-automatic." 

"Brilliant, what do you want us to do?"

"Let's do...Korean wrist-grab?" He suggested. 

"I don't know...we only practiced that once."

"It will work. Toss you hair to your left, and meet his eyes for a split second. Only a split second though." Sherlock instructed, nodding to where the man was. 

Doing just so, Jane stopped herself from shuddering as she locked eyes. His eyes were a light blue, with short cropped blonde hair. Any girl would find him attractive, making it all the easier to get the prize. 

"Where should I go after we're over?"

"Head near the alley. He'll drag you in, I take care of the rest."

"Right. Ready mate?" 

"Ready. This time, don't slap me."

"Then what?"

"You'll think of something." Nodding for her to start, the ruse began.

"What is wrong with you?!" Jane loudly asked, stalking away. 

"Hey, hey, hey, wait!" Sherlock chased after her, grabbing her wrist to stop her.

Seeing out of the corner of his eye that the rapist was watching (along with twenty other people), Sherlock supressed a pleased look and settled for the annoyed boyfriend look. Reaching over, Jane grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. 

"Try that for good size, you worthless arse!" Jane stomped off. 

Grimacing, Sherlock rubbed his arm as he watched Jane stalk off. A little _too_ in character, he should think. Looking after Jane, Gabelle had a lewd look in his eyes and licked his lips. Raising his eyebrows in disgust, Sherlock watched Gabelle start sauntering towards Jane's direction.

Following Gabelle, Sherlock hurried to the alley, only to find it empty. Heart skipping a beat, Sherlock looked deeper into the alley, but saw no shadows or figures of people. Going into a cold sweat, Sherlock went further into the alley. Why wasn't Jane there?? This was not part of the plan. Hearing glass crash, Sherlock sprinted in that direction. 

"Get away from me!! I mean it!" He heard Jane shout angrily.

"It's okay...it's okay...I make it fast!"

"Ow!!" Sherlock heard Jane cry out in pain, he went into action. 

"Jane!!" Finding her, Sherlock saw she had him pinned into the ground, shoelaces on his windpipe and Jane's knee on his back.

"On film?!" Jane asked, keeping the man off her. Instead of answering, Sherlock grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and yanked him up, punching him. When Gabelle stood up, Jane grabbed a rubbish bin and knocked him down with that.

"Please tell me that was on film, because I am not doing that again." Jane muttered, taking her shoelaces back. 

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?! I said _opening_ of the alley, not this deep in!!"

"I couldn't help it! He was stronger than he looks!" Jane defensively answered. "I'm sure we can testify and get a good word, since Mycroft is-"

"You went in too deep!" Sherlock shouted. 

"You never told me how deep! As you could see, I had everything in control! Don't be so pissed off!!" Jane defending herself, getting angry. Coldly, Sherlock cuffed the man and phoned Lestrade.

"We have Gabelle. If at all convenient, head to 45th." hanging up, Sherlock refused to look at Jane. 

"Why are you mad?! I just did what I was supposed to-Sherlock!!" 

Watching him stalk off, Jane glared at his retreating figure. "You want me to stay with Gabelle?!"

"Since you can handle it apparently." Taking a different cab than Jane, Sherlock headed home, while Jane remained in Scotland Yard, filing an assault report. 

"I might actually hate him a bit." Jane muttered under his breath. Whipping out her phone, Jane fired off a text. 

_Sent 2:15 PM-what is your actual problem_

When no reply came, Jane rolled her eyes and shoved her phone away. Sherlock was acting like she did something stupid. She only did what they planned, things just went a bit awry. Taking the tube home, Jane decided to send him another text. 

_Sent 3:45 PM-you could just tell me why you’re pissed and we can go from there_

Per usual when angry, Sherlock did not answer. Annoyed, Jane tucked her phone up once more.

***

Stomping up the stairs, Jane was ready to let Sherlock have it. Slapping open the door, she stormed in, only to find the flat abandoned. 

"Mrs. Hudson!!!! Was Sherlock here at any point or time past 12?!"

"No! Last time I saw him was with you!!" Mrs. Hudson yelled back.

Furious, Jane took her jacket off and threw it. She didn't do anything wrong! Why was Sherlock ignoring her?! 

***

Sitting home alone, Jane wasn't sure if she should be angry or worried, or both. Moriarty was on the loose, Sherlock was now officially missing for over 18 hours. Could Moriarty have caught him? But at the same time, that wouldn't be like Jim Moriarty. He'd leave some sort of clue. Or was Sherlock being petty and avoiding the flat. Sherlock wouldn't be so upset over Gabell, would he? 

"He'll be alright." Clara reassured her. 

"Yeah-I know. I know that."

“Maybe he found a lead and forgot to tell you.” Jane snorted.

She was sure Sherlock had “forgotten” to let her know about something so important.

“Maybe if you rest your eyes on the sofa. I’ll keep awake for news.” Clara offered. 

Nodding tiredly, Jane kicked off her shoes and tried to close her eyes for just a few moments. Perhaps she got more than a few moments, because the next thing she knew, Tim was shaking her awake. "Jane! Jane!" 

"...Tim? What time is it?" 

"Nearly nine, but that's not important. I think I may know where Sherlock is!" Getting up, Jane grabbed her jacket and followed Tim.

"Where??" 

"You 'member Gabelle?? Well, when you guys got ‘im, Sherlock went for the dad next. Only, dad weren't too ‘appy. And-well-Sherlock ain't left their house since!"

"And nearly a day later you find this good to say something?!" Jane asked, hailing a cab. 

"I only just found out! I'm gonna grab some of the other guys! Can you manage?"

"Of course I can manage. Text me if you find anything new."

Getting in the cab, Jane urged the cabbie to hurry. The only problem was, how was she to get in? Once she arrived, Jane scouted out at least fifteen ways to get in. Waiting it out in the garden, Jane looked into the large windows for any sign of life. According to Tim, the place was empty for at least an hour or two. 

Looking around, she spotted an old shed. Picking the padlock, she pushed it open. Empty. Sweeping through the area, Jane noticed some of the flooring seemed a bit hollow. Stomping on it, she heard a faint echo. She didn't know of many sheds that had a secret door. Pulling her torch out, she noticed a tiny outline of a door. Prying it open with her fingers, she looked down.

***

“Lovely change of scenery.”

“Sherlock. We are tied in a basement, with the only exit being twelve feet up. The only window is also twelve feet up. A nuclear code is about to be emitted that will blow up half of Italy. And the only thing you can think of is how lovely our scenery is.” 

“Exactly.” 

“You are awfully cheerful for someone who’s been MIA.” 

“And you are quite stupid for someone who served as an Army Doctor in Afghanistan for three years.” 

“Stupid? Listen you, I have been worried sick about you for two days! You have been missing!! Of course I would go after you after Tim gave me the okay!” 

“Tim finally cracked.”

“What do you mean cracked??” 

Sherlock picked at a loose thread on his coat. Thinking, Jane’s eyes narrowed as Sherlock’s fingers plucked at the navy thread.

“…Tim has known where you were for two days?”

“I wouldn’t be so stupid as to not tell anyone my whereabouts.”

“You couldn’t have told…oh, I don’t know, me??” 

“You’d have gone with me, I couldn’t have that. Making you angry at me was a logical choice.”

"Wait, so you being mad was just-a trick?!"

"Obviously I knew you could take down such a poor class of criminal. Just needed you to stay behind so I could deal with the father."

"Yeah, great job. We're going to be executed at 7 tomorrow, unless we do something, _now_." 

When Sherlock gave a dreary sigh, Jane pinched the insides of his wrists, making him cringe. 

"What is wrong with you?? In case you haven't noticed, we are going to DIE unless we do something! Think of something!!" Jane urged him. 

"I've mapped out every possible exit and there isn't one!" Sherlock insisted angrily. 

"That isn't true! Think about it, we got tied up and then he went up the chain. If we untie the rope, then we find a way up with that. So, there's a way that we can come out!" 

"Optimism. How quaint. As if I had not already considered that glimmer of a possibility." Sherlock huffed. "He wanted us in here, that's why we are, and that is why we won’t get out anytime soon."

"So? The great detective is giving up now?" 

"I'm not giving up. Just biding my time." 

"For what??" 

"Who knows?"

Jane was exhausted. She hadn't slept in nearly two days, she had been sick with worry, and angry, all at the same time. 

"You could have just told me your plan from the get go, and we might not be in this mess!"

"Would you have even listened?" 

"You know I would!"

“When you weren’t supposed to follow me in Lauriston Gardens? Or when that man nearly drowned you because you swam out to him?”

“Those are the only exceptions!”

“And, oh yeah, when you went to a trafficking warehouse because you broke one of my samples.”

“Point made. But, so far, I’ve survived through it all.”

“Barely. If I hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t have made it!” 

“Really?! Because I remember you nearly getting your throat slit by that cannibal woman! And, you nearly choked on your own vomit when you were drugged by Irene, and…hmm, what else? Oh yes…the unsanctioned butcher shop.” 

Cheeks going red, Sherlock looked away. “That was different. My point is, you are far too reckless to go on some of the cases I accept!” 

“Right back at you! Like now, for instance, you’ve been tied up for nearly two days.”

Glaring, Sherlock stayed quiet at her point. 

“You make me worry about you far too much. I might just hate you a bit sometimes.” Jane snapped. 

Jaw tensing, Sherlock stared straight ahead. "Considering the fact I plan on marrying you someday, and should very well hope you do not abhor me." He muttered angrily. 

Pausing, Jane blinked several times. Her mouth opened a bit, and then closed. 

“When…since when did you ever think about marriage?” 

"I supposed this was a fairly obvious assumption that we would marry."

"You want to marry me? Me?"

"Yes you. Who else would I marry? Anderson? Mrs. Hudson?" 

"No...." 

"After this is over, I want you to marry me." 

“I…thought we discussed this, Sherlock. We both agreed that marriage isn’t…something we’ll do. Ever. As you have said it’s ‘the logical thing to do’. So why the sudden change of heart? Is this some sort of…‘If we die, I think you should know’, sort of thing?”

“I have never been so irrational as to act on adrenaline alone.” 

Raising her eyebrow, Jane reviewed the last forty-eight hours silently.

“This is a decision I have considered for a long time.”

“Yes, but why? What were the thoughts behind this?” 

“Because…I-well…” Sherlock swallowed and blew out a breath. “Because…”

Hearing some scuffle from upstairs, Sherlock painstakingly pulled a nail from his coat pocket and started undoing their ropes. Watching him do this, Jane wondered why he hadn’t just said something in the first place. 

“Looks like we’re expecting company.” Sherlock murmured. Hearing an overhead chopper and scuffle, Jane and Sherlock backed up to a safe area. “I assume the MI6 have arrived.” 

“Terrific.” Jane grumbled.

*** 

Entering the kitchen, Jane went scrummaging through the fridge and located a beer. Sitting down, she noticed Sherlock found himself a stronger drink too. It all went to show how hellish the ordeal had been. 

“What a day.” Jane sighed, opening a beer can. 

“What a day.” Sherlock agreed, pouring himself some brandy. Sitting on her chair, Jane absentmindedly rubbed her bandaged wrists. 

“So…I thought about what you said. A lot.” Jane begun. 

Not replying with a snide comment, Sherlock waited. Putting the beer can on the table, Jane leaned forward slightly.

“I…I can’t. Not now. There’s just too much happening. Moriarty, things with my family…” 

“I…see.” Sherlock heavily replied, mouth in a grim line. 

“But when it is all over, with Moriarty, and whatnot...yes.”

“So…more or less…” 

Smiling at him, Jane nodded. Eyes brightening, Sherlock cleared his throat and finished his drink. 

“You okay?” Jane asked, her cheeks reddening. 

“Why ever would I not be okay?” Sherlock asked, standing up.

Reaching over for her, he did something quite unexpected. Picking her up, he spun her around once, then twice. Leaning down, he caressed her bottom lip with his thumb before leaning down to kiss her. Meeting him halfway, Jane leaned into the kiss, her fingers weaving through his slightly greasy hair and could smell cognac, sweat and dirt on him. Considering he might have been potentially dead, it smelled wonderful to her.

 “Hoo-hoo!” Mrs. Hudson shouted louder than usual. 

Breaking apart, Jane quickly started straightening up the table as Sherlock sat on the chair as if he had always been there. 

“Hope I wasn’t _interrupting_ anything.” Mrs. Hudson said knowingly. 

“Nope. Just, going to bed now, actually.” Jane coughed.

“Night Mrs. Hudson.” Giving her a hug, Jane went to the door before stopping. “Night, Sherlock.” 

Nodding at her, Sherlock looked almost bored. Smiling, Jane went upstairs. When Mrs. Hudson grinned at Sherlock from ear to ear, Sherlock sighed.

“What?” 

“Just…happy you’re alright, Sherlock. Had everyone really worried, y’know.”

“Yes, I would hope so.” When Mrs. Hudson stood there expectantly, he stretched and got up. “I’ve been in a basement for two days. I think that’s a cue to shower.” 

Watching him go, Mrs. Hudson gave a bemused shake of her head.

“I thought he would never ask.”

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahem, a little on the sweet side. But, as my sister said as she read it: "Mrs. Hudson is a representation of the fandom"  
> I honestly don't know where the series would be without her. Hopefully will post again in the near future!


	7. Spy books and Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all started with two lost children in the forest...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And at long last another chapter!! Writers block is finally gone, and I am back in business! Hopefully will update again in a few days!!

“So…what is the reason for abduction today? What my intentions are to Sherlock? Want me to spy on him? Or is it, ‘when are you going to pack up and leave’?” Jane asked, sitting back.   


“None of those things, for the time being.”  
Sliding a manila envelope over to her, Mycroft waited as she inspected the contents.   
“Do any of these faces ring a bell in your mind?”  
“No…not really. Why?”  
“You should really take closer looks at people’s faces. Sulejmani. Albanian hit squad. Expertly-trained killer, lives in the flat opposite you.”  
“Oh. I was thinking of sending biscuits their way.”  
“I’m not sure you’d want to. Keep looking through the photographs.”  
As Jane picked up another one, Mycroft continued:   
“Ah, yes, a personal favourite. Dyachenko, Ludmila, a Russian killer, she lives a few doors down.”  
Raising her eyebrows, Jane sifted through the rest of the photos before closing the envelope.

“In fact, _four_   top international assassins are within spitting distance of 221B, Baker Street. Do you have anything to say for yourself.”  
“Well…” Jane cleared her throat. “I’ll be a little late getting home. I’m going to stop by the post and pick up some change-of-address forms.”  
Mycroft was less than amused judging by the way his jaw clenched.   
“Whatever you and Sherlock are conjuring, you need to take more precaution. Keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Why? You’re the big brother who’s always posting cameras and bugs all over the flat. Which, so you know, is incredibly creepy and inconsiderate.”

“Just…watch after him. Please? Sherlock and I…there is too much history between us for me to make a difference.”

“Hm…yeah, I’ve heard a thing or two about your ‘history’.”   
“You should then understand how important it is that it is _you_ who protects Sherlock.”

“So, I am now your brother’s keeper.”  
“That is the essential idea, yes.”

***

Going home, Jane had so much to tell Sherlock. Between the assassins, Mycroft and the other happenings, they had a lot on their plate. As she was about to open the door, she stepped on something. Scowling, Jane crouched down and picked up a brown envelope. Opening it open, dry crumbs came down.   
“Oi, move it!!” A muscled man bellowed, barely missing her with a ladder.  
Jane had forgotten that Mrs. Hudson was having her ceiling repaired, thanks to the shenanigans of Sherlock. Stepping in, Jane trotted up the stairs.   
“Sherlock, some really weird…what’s going on?” Jane asked, seeing Lestrade and Sally in their flat.   
“There’s been a kidnapping.” Sherlock said, pacing back and forth.  
“Kidnapping?”  
“Two kids.” Sally said.

“Rufus Bruhl, the ambassador to the U.S.” Lestrade said, “His children, Max and Claudette, age seven and nine.”  
Jane sighed heavily. There was honestly nothing worse than kids going missing, in her opinion.

“Where were they kidnapped?” She asked.

“St. Aldates, a posh boarding school.” Sally replied.

“The school broke up; all the other boarders went home-just a few kids remained, including those two.” Lestrade added.

Listening, Sherlock said nothing. Getting up, he scooped his coat up and under his arm, and was out the door.

“The ambassador asked for you and everythin’” Turning to Jane, Lestrade smugly asked: “Isn’t it great to be workin’ with a celebrity?”

***

Arriving on the scene, Sherlock quickly scanned the area, and found a woman in her fifties crying heavily into a floral handkerchief.

“That’s Mrs. Mackenzie, the House Mistress. Go easy on her, Sherlock, she’s been through a lot.”  
Stalking over to her, Sherlock glared furiously, his eyes alight.   
“Mrs. Mackenzie, you were trusted with the safety and security of those children, yet you left this place wide open last night! Now what are you?! An idiot, drunk, criminal, or all three?! _Now quickly, tell me_!!” Sherlock shouted the last part, violently tearing the shock blanket off of her.  
Dumbfounded, she stared up at Sherlock, as all the conversation dropped to quiet murmurs and worried glances. Then, meekly, she stuttered:  
“A-all the windows and doors were properly bolted! No one came into their room last night, not even me! You have to b-e-believe me-e!”

“I do. I just wanted you to speak quickly.” Sherlock replied, slipping the shock blanket over her shoulders before turning away.  
“Mrs. Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now!” He announced, quickly striding off.  
“Sherlock, was that your idea of ‘going easy’?” Jane muttered, catching up with him.  
“Two children missing, lives on the line. Being delicate isn’t the way to get the information you want, you know this.”

“Still though…they pay six grand a semester. You’d think that this place would be properly locked up and secure.”  
“It was. Whoever did it must have been really clever.”  
“And three guesses who’s behind this.” Jane added.  
“You catch on at times.” Sherlock noted.  
“When you’re around the world’s only consulting detective, there are a few things you eventually start catching on to.”

Going upstairs, they started looking around in the girl’s room. Several bare bunkbeds, except his, which still had messy covers and books.

“You said they were the only kids?”  
“Yeah. Since there dad and mum were in the US, they left them here.” Lestrade replied.

“Yet no sign of a break in?”  
“We thoroughly checked.”  
_Not thoroughly enough…_ Jane could practically read Sherlock’s mind at this point as he searched the cupboards, under the bed, and finally popping open a wooden trunk. Closing it, he looked at Donovan and asked:   
“Where’s the boy’s room?”  
Entering, Sherlock looked around, standing beside the only bunk that had a blanket and items strewn about. The bed was opposite to the door, with a frosted window in it.

“The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor. He’d recognise every shape, every outline, the silhouette of everyone who came to the door.”  
“Okay, so…?” Lestrade shrugged.

“ _So_ someone approaches the door who he doesn’t recognise, an intruder. Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon.”

“And, he reads a lot of mystery and spy novels. The Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, the likes.” Jane added, pointing at all of the books around him. Opening the boy’s trunk, Sherlock rifled through his drawers, before finding a neatly wrapped book, with a seal. Breaking it, he found a brand new copy of _Grimm’s Fairy Tales_. For all of the spy and mystery novels, it was unfitting. The fact that it remained unopened in the possession of a nine year old boy was a warning bell.

“What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them if not to cry out? The child who reads all of this spy and detective stories? This certain little boy…”  
Impatiently, Donovan waited for him to get to the point.  
“He’d leave a sign, a clue.” Jane said.

“Precisely.”  
Taking deep sniffs, Sherlock frowned and put his nose against the wall, inhaling. Rising, he looked satisfied.

“Get Anderson.”  
***

By placing wooden shutters on the windows and light sources as best as they could, Anderson set up ultraviolet light. In cheap invisible ink, was the words “HELP US” on the wall. On the wooden floor were two sets of footprints; a large one and smaller ones that had been dragged away.

“Linseed oil.”

“Yeah, and what good is that? Doesn’t lead us to the kidnapper.”  
Rolling her eyes, Jane watched as Sherlock followed the footprints.

“Brilliant, Anderson.”  
“Really?”  
“Yes. A brilliant impression of an idiot.”  
_Though it really wasn’t an impression._ Jane thought to herself as Sherlock crouched down.

“You think you can tell what happened?” Jane asked him.  
“Let’s see…The boy was made to walk ahead of them, the girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways. He had his left arm cradled about her neck.” As they walked on, the footprints abruptly stopped.   
“And that’s the end. We can’t tell where they went from here.” Sherlock sighed.  
“So, basically, it tells us nothing. It’s useless.” Anderson stoutly said.

“You’re right Anderson. It really tells us nothing.” Sherlock took a deep breath. “Except for minute details like his gait, walking pace, shoe size, possibly even where the man came from.”

Grabbing a petri dish from his pocket, Sherlock gave a delighted chuckle as he pulled up bits of the floor into the dish.  
 "Enjoying yourself?"

"Ooh, starting to."

"I think...the smiling is a bit much. Try and contain yourself."

"And why should I do that?"

"Kidnapped kids. I'm sure you'd be out of your mind right now if this was your child."

Snorting at the idea of him being a dad, Sherlock finished collecting his samples.

***

“You still haven’t explained to me how he got in.”  
“Well, with how well you were doing today Jane, I would’ve thought you would know by now.”  
“Is this your way of flirting, Holmes?” Jane asked, jostling his shoulder.

“Yes.”  
“Alright, smart arse. How’d the guy get in?”  
“A whole crowd of people. Chauffeurs, parents, governesses. What was one stranger to the crowd? He slipped in while everyone slipped out. Then, at night, he went ahead and took the kids.”  
“Huh.”   
“Remember Jane, anyone can walk in anywhere, so long as they pick the right moment.” Sherlock said, trotting up the stairs of the morgue.  
“We’re here to torture Molly?”  
“Why else?”  
“Don’t be a prat to her, you put her through enough as it is.”  
Turning around the corner, they saw Molly getting on her coat and walking.  
“Molly!!” Sherlock donned a fake and toothy grin.  
“Hello…this isn’t a good time actually, I was just about to go on-”

“-A date? Hm, no, you’re having lunch with me. I got you something.”  
Tossing her a bag of crisps, Sherlock took her by the arm and led her back into the lab.  
“I need your help, one of your ex-boyfriends got a bit naughty, and we’re trying to track him down.”  
“M-Moriarty?” Molly asked, shrinking.  
“Who else?”  
“Look, Jim-was _not_ my boyfriend. We went out a few times, and I called it off.”

“And since then he broke into the Tower of London, kidnapped two children and other nameless atrocities. I would suggest staving off romantic relationships.”

Glaring at Sherlock’s back, Jane did her best to give Molly a sympathetic smile. Sherlock was in a truly lovely and sincere mood.

As Molly dragged in countless books and files, Jane and Sherlock were at work. Passing him what he needed, the pair worked in silence. Eventually, Jane began searching through the files and books for matches to the chemicals as Sherlock identified the substances in the wood.  
_Chalk…Asphalt…Brick Dust…Vegetation._  
There was still one more thing he needed to identify. As he stared at the unknown substance, Sherlock was stuck. What could it be?  
Sighing heavily, Sherlock tried to identify the last substance. But for the life of him, he couldn't figure it out.

"I...O...U....I...O...U..." Sherlock whispered.

_Could that be a clue to the substance?_

"What's that?" Molly asked.

"Hm? Nothing-just thinking to myself."

Swishing the mixture back and forth, Sherlock growled.  
“What _are_ you??”

As he glared and leaned forward, Molly watched him with an unhappy look in her eye. She opened her mouth a few times, and then closed it, as if unsure how to phrase her words. Finally, she cleared her throat.

“You know…you’re a bit like my Dad. He’s dead.”  
Blinking rapidly, Sherlock looked over at Molly as she closed her eyes in embarrassment.

“No, wait, sorry...”  
“If this is your attempt at a conversation, I wouldn’t advise it. Conversation has never really been your expertise.”  
“When he was…dying, he was always cheerful. He was lovely-except when he thought no-one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad.” Molly continued, her voice shaky.

“Molly.” Sherlock warningly said, casting a glance at Jane, who was burrowed in her books and files.  
“You look sad. When you think Jane can’t see you.”

 _Sad_ would not be the word Sherlock would use to describe how he felt. Day in and day out for months, Sherlock knew that the case meant to bring him to his knees was coming. It would destroy everything, and Sherlock (for once in his life) could do nothing except sit back and watch the fire blaze.

“Are you okay? And don’t just say you are…because I know what it is, to look sad when no one sees you.”  
“You see me.” Sherlock retorted.  
“I don’t count.” Molly shrugged.

Eyes flickering, Sherlock felt remorse. She had worked with him longer than any other pathologists, endured his verbal onslaughts, and so forth, and he never had the decency to regard her as anything but a tool, a means to get a hand in his freezer.   
“What-could I need from you?” He asked.

“I don’t know. Say ‘thank you’, maybe?”  
“Um…thank you?” He recited, not sure where the conversation was going anymore.

“If you ever need anything-you have me-that’s all-I just thought-never mind.”

As she went to the other side of the lab, Sherlock watched her, deep in thought. A few moments later, he heard Jane get up and walk to him.

“Y’know, the envelope that we found in the boy’s room?”  
“Yes?”   
“There’s another one?”  
“What??”   
How could he have missed it? He searched the rooms thoroughly, and he somehow missed it?  
“On our doorstep this morning.”

Reaching into her pocket, Jane revealed the envelope. Taking it from her, Sherlock cautiously opened it to examine the breadcrumbs.

“Grimm’s Fairy Tales…Hansel and Gretel…” Sherlock whispered.

And then, it all came together. The breadcrumbs, the kidnapping, the location, the missing substance.  
“PGPR!!” Sherlock gasped.  
“What? What is that?” Jane asked.  
“It’s used in making chocolate.”

Grabbing his coat, Sherlock sped out of the door, Jane closely behind him.

***

“I think we’re looking for an abandoned sweet factory.”  
“And you got that from a few chemicals?” Lestrade cried.

“We need to find a location where all five things intersect.” Sherlock said, whipping out his phone and begun rapidly texting people.

“Sir, we just got a fax.” Someone said, holding up a piece of paper, where the words: “HELP THEM THEY’RE DYING”, was written in all caps.

“We need to narrow this down, Sherlock. A factory with asphalt.”  
“No, something with a more clay like substance.” Sherlock replied. “Bricks from at least the 1950’s.”  
“There’s-countless buildings like that in London!” Lestrade exclaimed.

“It doesn’t have to be in London necessarily.” Sherlock pointed out.

“What are you doing?”

“Contacting homeless network.”  
“I’ve already got people!”  
“Mine are faster, bigger, and more susceptible to bribery.” Sherlock retorted, earning a sharp glare from Anderson.

Tapping his foot rapidly, Sherlock received several texts from various people. Scrolling through them, he frowned as he dismissed several of the possibilities. Seeing a building, he clicked it and scrolled through the scenery surrounding it.  
“Addleston!” He announced.  
“What??”  
“There’s a disused factory in Addleston, that’s where the children are!”

“Everyone, move it, we gotta hurry!!” Lestrade yelled, struggling to get his jacket on.

“Move it people!!” Sally bellowed.

Getting into a police car, Jane and Sherlock were anxious as the policeman started the car and started speeding down the street. Eyes downcast, Jane’s eyes traced patterns on the floor.  
“Jane?” He asked inquisitively.

“Nothing. Just…something feels wrong.” Jane said quietly, her mouth a firm line.

 

 

 


	8. Fairy tail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They follow the trail of chocolate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And an update in five days??  
> I plan on finishing this story by May, so you all won't be kept waiting as long as you have been! :)

“Search everywhere! You don’t know where the kids might be hiding!” Donovan ordered as everyone stormed the building.

Striding quickly in, Sherlock saw a candle with smoke curling off it.  
“They’re still here!!” He yelled.

Looking at his shoes, he saw crinkly sweet wrappers all around his feet. Licking the wrapper, he immediately spit a few times, producing a raised eyebrow from Jane.

“Mercury. These wrappers are infused with mercury. Moriarty didn’t even have to be here, because the faster they ate, the more they died. Neat.” Sherlock remarked, a smirk on his face.  
“Sherlock.” Jane gave him a warning look as she took a long look at the dim warehouse.

“I found them!!” They heard Donovan call out.

Giving a sigh of relief, Jane switched her torch off. As Jane went to re-join the group, Sherlock stayed behind, the wrapper still in his hand.

***

“Remember, she’s been through a lot.” Lestrade said as Jane and Sherlock stood outside.

“Just remember to be…”  
“Not me?” Sherlock suggested, folding down his coat collar.

“If at all possible, yeh.”

Entering, Sherlock tried for a smile.  
“Claudette, I’m-”

Eyes weary and tired, she looked up, before her expressions contorted to one of horror and fear. Shrieking, she tried to hide behind the social worker.  
“Please, I-know it’s been hard for you, but I-”

“-Just get out! Get out!!” Lestrade yelled, forcibly shoving Sherlock and Jane out, the door slamming in their face.

“She’s in shock, Sherlock. She just didn’t know you.” Jane suggested feebly.

Eyes wide, Sherlock’s face lacked its normal colour. His breathing irregular, Sherlock’s mouth opened and then closed.

“Oi…you okay?” Jane asked, touching his arm.  
Shrugging away from her touch, Sherlock flipped up his collar and walked away, leaving a confused Jane behind.

Clever. So very clever. Somehow, Moriarty made that little girl recognise him. Perhaps Moriarty told her that Sherlock would kill her. Brow furrowed, Sherlock swallowed hard and leaned against the wall. The web was oh so clear. More and more people were being trapped in it. Would Sherlock be trapped in that endless mess? Or was he already a part of it? He just did not know anymore.

***

Sherlock was beginning to go into sensory overload. He kept losing track of time, and the tick of the clock, a distant sneeze, and even Jane laughing at something Lestrade said was putting him on edge. Facing the window, Sherlock tried to block out the people surrounding him. Then, something caught his attention.

Spray-paint was covering the windows opposite the building. There, in red paint were the letters…

“I…O…U.” Sherlock whispered.

“Sherlock?” Jane’s voice was so close now, her hand on his forearm.  
Looking back at the window, it was all dark. Pulling away from her, Sherlock shook his head as if to say now was not the best time.

“I got a cab. Let’s go home for the day? I got all of the paperwork filled.”  
Giving a short nod, Sherlock begun to walk out with Jane.  
“Good work finding those kids.” Donovan said, walking tactfully towards him.  
“Thank you…” Sherlock hesitantly replied.  
“Unbelievable, even.”

Turning to lock eyes with her, Sherlock felt an unpleasant feeling in his chest as he tore away his gaze and went forward. Finding Jane waiting for him, he went into the cab and stopped her from entering with him.  
“Sherlock??”  
“People might talk, remember? I need time to think.”  
With that, the door was closed and he was off. Leaning back in his seat, Sherlock was beginning to get a terrible headache. Everything was closing in now. Sally…Anderson…he knew they weren’t bright people, and he also knew the utter hatred they had for Sherlock.

 "...this lovely jewel is on market for...." the narrator's lofty voice filled the cab. 

Cringing against an ever growing headache, Sherlock tiredly looked at the screen.

"Could you turn it off?" He asked.

"As the viewers can see, the set mainly comprises of..."

"Can you turn it off, _please_?" Sherlock angrily asked.

Suddenly, he saw it. I'm a flash of static, there was Moriarty on the screen. Blood draining from face, Sherlock slowly sat up.

 _"Hello! Are you ready for a story? THIS is the story of Sir Boast A Lot!"_ Moriarty was asking, a back drop of a painted sunny sky behind him.

_"Once, there was a knight named Sir-Boast-a-Lot. Sir Boast-a-lot was the bravest and cleverest knight at the Round Table, but soon the other knights began to grow tired of his stories about how brave he was and how many dragons he’d slain..."_

The animated clouds soon turned to black, and thunder and lightning flashed. Sherlock began imagining it. Sally and Anderson harassing Lestrade at the desk. At first, he wouldn’t believe them. But, the more “facts” he would hear, Lestrade would begin to believe them.  
_“And then, even King Arthur began to even wonder about the tales as well, even his Lady Love.”_

He could see even Jane believing it. At first, she’d refuse to, but the more people talked to her and showed their “evidence”, Jane would have no choice but to believe.

_"And then some people began to wonder, are Sir-Boast-A-Lots stories even real?? Oh-h no.... But that wasn’t the end of Sir Boast-a-lot’s problem. No. it was only the beginning."_

Moriarty flashed a psychotic smile at the screen and closed the book.

_"The End."_

The image reverted back to the jeweler. 

"Stop the cab...STOP THE CAB!!" Sherlock yelled, jiggling at the locked door handle. 

He had to get out of that cab. He had to. As soon as the door unlocked, he kicked it open, running to the driver’s side.

"What was that?!" He snarled.

Looking up at him, the cabbie smiled, making Sherlock’s stomach dip. Sherlock knew that smile. The shadows lifted to reveal Moriarty's cold and dead eyes.

"Don't worry....no charge." With that, he sped off.

Standing in the middle of the street, Sherlock could barely process what he had just seen. He barely even heard the blaring horn, or the lights cast on the street.

Suddenly, his arm was being pulled back and he was off the street. Processing that he had nearly been killed, Sherlock turned to his rescuer. One of the neighbors from Baker Street had rescued him. Getting to his feet, Sherlock looked at the man, before extending his hand.

"Ah-thank you..." 

Returning Sherlock's handshake, the man hesitantly nodded-when the sound of a loud crack filled the air.

Jerking back, the man fell to the ground. Spinning around, Sherlock tried to find where the gunshots could have come from.  _What? How could this have happened? He was shot? By who? And why??_ Sherlock stared at the body in shock.

"Sherlock-! A gun sounded-are you ok??" Jane stopped speaking as she saw the corpse.

"What on earth happened?" Jane asked, checking the man's pulse.

"Sniper-sniper shot him." Sherlock answered. 

Hearing the sirens, Jane glanced over at the street where the police were coming.

***

Watching the ambulance take away the man, Jane's brow furrowed as she watched him go.

"You know something." Sherlock said suddenly.

"I do?"

"About that man."

"He was our neighbor." Jane replied, her eyes fixated on the ambulance.

"More than that." Sherlock pointed out.

"Well...it's just ironic that he died saving you."

"How would that be ironic?"

"He didn't exactly have our best intentions at heart." 

"Why didn't you tell me?"

“I thought you already knew. Didn’t Mycroft tell you?”  
Glaring silently, Sherlock gave his head a short shake. Why did Mycroft tell Jane, but not Sherlock? And how…how did Sherlock not even pick that up? Was he beginning to slip?

"We're being watched. Let's return to Baker Street." Sherlock said lowly, shoving his hands in his pockets and walked quickly.  
“A cab would be quicker.”  
“No cab!” He snapped.  
He didn’t want to take another cab. Not tonight.

On the way home, Sherlock kept looking into every car, and every cabbie’s side profile. On edge, he tried to see if it was another sinister face. But it wasn't. Just an 80 year old man, a tired Indian woman, a University student.

"Isn't it weird though? That the assassin died the moment he touched you? Was it because he saved you?" Jane asked.

"They aren't here to kill me...they're keeping me alive." 


	9. Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Have you made your decision?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And almost back to regular updates!! The climax of the story should come in a few chapters. Now, I will go back to writing the rest and will try not to cry as I write it. :'(

Entering Baker Street, Sherlock let Jane in and hurried up the stairs. Taking off his coat, he slung it and the scarf over a chair and began pacing back and forth.

“Four assassins living right on our doorstep. They didn’t come here to kill me, they have to keep me _alive_.”

When it was apparent Jane had not caught on to the grand scheme, he sighed and continued the explanation.

“I’ve got something that all of them want, but if one of them approaches me…”  
 “...The others kill them before they can get it.” Jane finished slowly, giving a small nod.  
“Precisely.” Sitting down at his laptop, Sherlock brought up their Wi-Fi and looked through all the users, realising out every single user was a different language.

“We’re being spied on in here too.” Sherlock said quietly.   
“And not Mycroft for once. Perhaps we should play them some music again?” Jane quipped.  
Recalling that memory, Sherlock cracked a fond smile before standing up.   
“I think we need to ask about the dusting.”  
After getting Mrs. Hudson upstairs, Sherlock began searching the flat.

“Name everything you could have possibly dusted!!”  
“Well, Tuesday, I did your lino and laundry, Wednesday I vacuumed-”

“-Only dusting. Any?”  
“Oh Sherlock! You never let me touch any of these things!” Mrs. Hudson laughed, gesturing vaguely at the flat.   
Climbing his chair, Sherlock noticed unsettled dust around a book. Pulling at it, it revealed a small camera.   
“So there’s the camera.” Jane said as Sherlock brought it to the laptop.   
“Cameras?? But-I’m in my nighties!” Mrs. Hudson squealed, hugging her robe self-consciously.

Hearing footsteps ascend the stairs, Sherlock resignedly sat down by the laptop.   
“No, Lestrade.”  
“Hm? I haven’t asked anything!”  
“You don’t need to. Because I will not be accompanying you.”  
“Sherlock, be reasonable.” Lestrade said, exasperated.  
“ _You_ be reasonable. You’ve known me a long time. And still, you think I’m a criminal mastermind. And that is just what Moriarty wants. He wants to plant those ideas…right there.” Sherlock murmured, tapping Lestrade’s head.   
“So you won’t come?”  
“No. Give my regards to Donovan.”

Glancing at Jane uncomfortably, Lestrade slowly turned and went down the stairs. Walking slowly to the window, Jane’s fingers brushed the lace curtains open a crack. When she saw Donovan with Lestrade, her entire body was filled with dread. Jane’s heart felt so heavy, that it might drag her to the floor. Watching them drive off, Jane knew they would be back, indefinitely with a warrant of arrest.

“They’ll be deciding.”

“What? A warrant?” Jane asked, still watching the car roll away.  
“Standard procedure.”  
“Sherlock…you should have gone with them.”  
“Why?”  
“It would make this easier for you. People will think…”  
“-I don’t care what people think.” He stoically responded.  
“But you care when they think you’re stupid or wrong! So why don’t you care now?”   
“And you? Why do you care?  
“Care about what? About you being safe? About you not letting Moriarty beat you! Proving people wrong that you’re a fake?” Jane raised her voice, turning to look out the window again.

Several minutes passed. Cold and angry, they refused to look at the other. Finally, Sherlock asked what he was afraid to ask.

"Have you decided?"  
"Decided what?" There was an edge to Jane’s voice.

"Whether or not you believe me. Whether or not I really am the bad guy. That's what you're doing, right here, right now."

“No, I-"

“-That everything, _everything_ you’ve known about me was a lie.”

“I don’t think that!!”  
“-That you’ve been taken in, just like everyone else.”

"That's not it Sherlock! I just-I just don't want... people to think-" Trailing off, Jane looked at the wood floor.

Stopping his typing, Sherlock leaned back in his chair and looked at her. From the light of the laptop, his shadows and dark circles were more defined. His eyes, attentively fixed on her, had a dark, broken light in them.

"That I'm what? A fraud?"

Silent, Jane stared at him. She had seen him in all states. Angry, happy, depressed, triumphant, sorrowful. But, she had never seen him look this way before. His eyes held the look of an almost mad man, on the brink of destruction.

"Moriarty is messing with your mind too, can't you SEE WHAT’S GOING ON?!?" Sherlock shouted angrily, slamming his hands down onto the table, making a few books fall to the floor.

Jane didn't even flinch. Instead, she re-fixed her eyes onto the window.

"No. I don't believe them.”  
"You don't even know what you believe right now."  
"No one like you could be such a pain in the arse 24/7. Would get a bit exhausting for you, wouldn't it?" She replied calmly, looking at him again.

At this, Sherlock managed a small smile. Jane realised why he was acting this way. He was terrified, afraid. He feared that he was falling into a pit, and would never crawl out again. Walking towards him Jane leaned down and gave him a tight hug, her thumb massaging the back of his neck.  
“We’ll get this mess sorted.” She promised, kissing his cheekbone.

“How about some tea?” Jane asked.   
“Tea…sounds lovely.”  
The fact Sherlock Holmes said ‘lovely’ made Jane worry even more. What was going through his head? Boiling him and herself a cup, Jane watched Sherlock stare at the computer with a fixedly calm expression.  
Once the tea was ready, Jane poured it into Sherlock’s favourite mug-a small reminder that the mess would be amended. Setting it down for him, Jane’s mobile began ringing.  
Opening it, Jane began talking to Lestrade.  
“Lestrade.”  
“Jane, hey, listen, ehm-we’re coming over again. Just, make sure that Sherlock’s prepared, yeah?”

“Thanks.” Was all Jane could say, before switching off.  
“So, you still have a friend or two. Lestrade’s on his way to arrest you, along with some of your chums.”

Nodding, Sherlock shut the laptop and took a sip of tea.  
“Sorry if I’m interrupting!” Mrs. Hudson said, shuffling in. “It’s just, I forgot to give this to you, Sherlock.”

As Sherlock accepted the brown package, Mrs. Hudson frowned.  
“It was a strange name. Grimm…like the fairytales.”  
Exchanging looks, Sherlock tore open the package to reveal gingerbread. One with blonde hair…the other with black hair…both of them were scorched.

“Burnt to a crisp.” Sherlock whispered.  
Hearing pounding on the door, Sherlock straightened as Jane and Mrs. Hudson hurried downstairs. Hearing Jane protesting downstairs and Mrs. Hudson yelling, Sherlock slipped his arms through the sleeves of his coat and slowly put on the blue scarf.   
As the men went up the stairs, Lestrade avoided looking at Sherlock.

“Sherlock Holmes-you’re under arrest on charges of kidnapping.”  
“This is absurd! You don’t have any proof-just the word of two people who absolutely hate Sherlock-why are you _cuffing him_!? He’s not struggling- _stop it_!!”

“Stay out of it-or I’ll arrest you too!” Lestrade half-heartedly threatened, regret in his voice.  
Worriedly watching Sherlock being escorted down the stairs, Jane clenched and unclenched her fists.   
“I told you. I told you, right from the beginning.” Donovan snidely remarked from behind her.

“Told me what?” Jane asked, closing her eyes and inhaling sharply.

“That one day, solving ‘em wouldn’t be enough. And I was right. What kind of sick man would kidnap kids just so he could find ‘em?” Donovan taunted.

Breath coming angrily, Jane glared at Donovan as the Chief Superintendent came up.

“That’s enough Donovan.”

“That Sherlock Holmes-looked like a bit of a weirdo, if you ask me.”  The Chief carried on the abuse.   
“No one _did_ ask you.” Jane muttered under her breath.

“What? What was that?” He asked, getting closer to her.  
“I said, _‘No one did ask you’_. You aren’t a psychologist, or a social specialist. Your job is to supervise, not to commentate.”  
“And who are you to tell me how to do my job?”   
“No one, sir. Just a doctor.” Jane replied, a dark glint in her eye.

“Don’t worry about Holmes being a weirdo though. Most of these vigilantes are.” He hummed, casting an obnoxious smirk at her. Rage coursing through her body, Jane’s hands were tight fists.

"What are you lookin' at?" He asked smugly.  
Looking up at him, Jane had to chuckle a bit. Moriarty was on the loose, Sherlock just got arrested, she had no sleep in her system, and on top of that-this man. Raising her fist, Jane did what her instincts told her to do the moment his fat bottom went up the steps.

Stunned, everyone looked at Jane, her fist still raised, blood on the knuckles. She felt herself grabbed and dragged down the stairs. Slammed against the police car, Jane felt one of her wrists being cuffed to someone else.  
"Joining me?" Sherlock asked.  
"Yep. Did you know that it's illegal to clock out the chief superintendent?" 

Looking away from her, Sherlock smiled for a brief moment. She always managed to make him smile in the most inconvenient of times.

"Cuffed together...romantic." Jane sarcastically noted.

"Hardly. Your ears are going to hurt for a moment."  
"What?"

Reaching into the open window of the police car, Sherlock pressed on the talk button next to a high pitched frequency from a radio. As everyone covered their ears in pain, Sherlock sprang into action. Pulling an officer’s gun away from him, Sherlock backed himself and Jane several paces away from everyone.  
"Ladies and Gentlemen, will you please get on your knees??" Sherlock loudly asked.  
When no one did anything, Sherlock fired two warning shots, making everyone cry out and get down.

"Do as he says!!" Lestrade yelled in a defeated tone, sinking to the ground.  
"Um-so-you all know, this is absolutely not my idea. It's not. I-I'm just-just-"  
"-She's my hostage!! If you want her dead, take a step forward, I dare you!" 

Backing away again, Sherlock looked the officers in the eye.  
"Sherlock. What...are you doing?" Jane asked under her breath.

"Falling into Moriarty's plan. I am now a fugitive. Run."  
Pulling her along, Sherlock sped through the alleys. Hearing the police sirens growing nearer, Jane felt panicked. She was slowing Sherlock down, he should just leave her behind.

"Take my hand!" Sherlock instructed, grabbing her to propel her.  
"Yea-where are we going?!" Jane asked, hurrying along.

Making a swerve, Sherlock dropped his pistol. As Jane tried to retrieve it, Sherlock dragged her on.

“The gun!!”   
"Leave it!" 

As they went into yet another alley, Sherlock scrambled up the trash bins. Unfortunately, Jane was not as quick, nor tall.  
"Sherlock-stop!" Jane gasped, her arm sending up a shoot of pain, her feet not touching the ground. Grabbing him by the coat, Jane roughly jerked him closer to her where they were but a breath's length from each other. 

"If we plan to execute this, we need to work together." 

Looking at her, Sherlock leaned in slightly, as if he were going to kiss her. Berating himself, Sherlock pulled back.  
"Step up on the bin to your left, I'll catch you."  
Hurriedly, Jane did so and jumped into Sherlock's arms. Setting her down, Sherlock took her hand again and hauled her along yet again.

"This is what everyone wants to believe, Jane. That's what makes it so clever. All my brilliant deductions were a sham."  
"Not everyone. I don't. I never will." Surprised at the sudden statement, Sherlock looked at her.  
"Really?"  
"I've said so since the beginning, Sherlock. Don't look so shocked." Squeezing his hand reassuringly, Jane went on.

"Can't Mycroft help us?"  
"A family reconciliation? Not the best time, I don’t think."  
As Sherlock went forward, Jane dug her heels into the ground.

"What?"  
"Sh-Sherlock-the police. There's someone watching us."  
"Not the police. One of our friendly neighbors. Let's see if he can give us an answer or two, shall we?"  
Going forward, Sherlock noticed an oncoming bus and formulated an idea.  
"What are you thinking? Because whatever you’re thinking, you should probably reco-"  
"Jane, you must trust me. We are jumping in front of that bus."  
"What?!"  
"Ready?"  
"No-!" 

Running, Sherlock and Jane stopped in the middle of the street as the large bus loomed over them. As the bus loomed closer to them, Jane squeezed her eyes shut. Feeling a heavy force crash into her, she realised it wasn’t a bus, but a man.   
Dragging Jane away from the man, Sherlock took the gun from their neighbor and aimed it steadily.   
“Tell me what you want from me- _now_!”  
“He left it at your flat.” The assassin said.  
“Who? What?”  
“Moriarty-the computer key code.”  
“Of course-he’s selling it. The program that gets anything, anyone to do anything.” Sherlock breathed.

Hearing bullets fire through the air, the assassin was gunned down. Not leaving a moment for shock to settle, Jane grabbed Sherlock’s hand and set to a sprint to safe cover-although there was no safe place anymore.

“Why would Moriarty plant that on you?” Jane asked as they hid beside a newspaper bin.  
“A subtle way of smearing my name once it all comes out.” Sherlock said.

“I think it’s starting to. Look.” Jane said, getting a copy of a newspaper and showing it to Sherlock.  
It was an article talking about Sherlock-and some intimate parts of his life-including his former drug usage and similar atrocities, the source being from some man named Richard Brook (Which showed how untrue the article was, as Sherlock knew no one with that name),

“And the author?” Sherlock asked, looking for the name.

Ah yes, of course. Kitty Riley.


	10. The Actor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Sherlock discover the identity of Richard Brook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a few more chapters left in the story!! Hopefully will update within a few days!

 

“Must we keep the lights off?” Jane asked as they sat on her couch.   
“Yes. The neighbours might know she’s out and report us.”  
“Yeah.”

Sitting quietly, Jane reflected on the paper as Sherlock brooded. She hadn’t confided in any sort of tabloid, and Sherlock was very cautious when speaking of his past. In fact, no one knew before the article. Richard Brook was probably a fake name, used by a coward who wouldn’t reveal their true identity. That narrowed it down to one person…  
“Once Kitty is here, we’ll talk and see if she knows the location of Moriarty.” Sherlock said, his fingers tapping impatiently.

“But how do we clear your name? How do we even begin to prove that you aren’t a fraud?” Jane asked.

“It begins by getting Jim Moriarty to confess that I’m not.”  
“Which we both know he’ll never do.” Jane snorted.

Hearing footsteps, Sherlock hushed her. Lights flicking on, Kitty Pride gave a shocked gasp at the sight of two unknowns in her flat.

“Up for an interview?” Sherlock asked, pulling out a picklock.  
Undoing their handcuffs as Kitty tersely stood there, he donned a fake smile.   
“Congratulations. The truth behind Sherlock Holmes.” Nose wrinkling in disgust, Kitty looked away. “The scoop everyone wanted, Bravo.”  
“I told you that I’d be on your side. But, you turned me down so…”  
“Oh Kitty. It’s more than simple revenge. You met a man, Jim Moriarty. Long nights in the café, mornings in a bed. He lured you into taking this.”  
Flushing angrily, Kitty tipped her jaw up.

“What were his credentials?”  
Hearing the door open, Jane and Sherlock both turned at the sound of it. Entering looking tired and dishevelled, Moriarty was there.   
“Sorry, they didn’t have coffee beans, so I just got-” Face going slack, Moriarty dropped the bags and started trembling.  
“You said-said they couldn’t find me. That I was safe!!”  
“And you are. They won’t harm you in front of a witness, Richard, I promise.” Kitty promised soothingly.

“That’s your source?! Moriarty-is Richard Brook?!” Jane cried.

She had been so sure that it was Mycroft!

“His name isn’t Moriarty, never was-it’s Richard Brook.” Kitty replied.

“I’m sorry, what?!”  
“Look him up if you want. Richard Brook-an actor that Sherlock hired to take the blame for _his_ own crimes!”

“An actor? An actor?!” Jane exploded.

“Doctor-Doctor Watson-please-I know you’re a good woman-a soldier. Please, don’t hurt me!”

"You-tried to blow me up! You had me chained to a pipe! Had your henchman beating me to a pulp!!" Jane accused, her voice trembling with rage. Hearing this, Sherlock's rage heightened. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry-Sherlock, he-the bomb wasn't real. H didn't want you to die, not really. But you had to believe the lie. And I'm so sorry, I am!" Moriarty pleaded, his voice choked with emotion.

"No, that's not true. Sherlock would never do that! But you...you would, you venomous snake!"  Jane's voice rose.

“Sherlock-hired me-I needed the work-I’m an actor!”  
“Sherlock…you better explain, because none of this is making sense.” Jane said, pinching the bridge of her nose.   
“I’ll do the explaining.” Kitty intervened, blocking Sherlock from Jane. “In print. Here is the proof.”  
“Yes, I’d like to see this ‘proof’.” Jane snarled, opening the folder that was provided.

Headshots of Moriarty, articles of him joining a cast, medical drama, kid’s shows, articles of him bashing Sherlock Holmes.

“You _invented_ Jim Moriarty, your nemesis.” Kitty was saying to Sherlock  
“Invented him?” Jane spat.

“Yes, and all the crimes too. Every ‘adventure’ you were on was just planned by Sherlock so he could stave off boredom.”

“This is ridiculous! Richa-Moriarty-this _man_ -was on trial!!!”  
“Yes, and you _paid_ him! _Paid_ him to take the blame! The money was good, and as a struggling actor, he needed it!” Kitty said, rubbing Moriarty’s arm.

Looking through all the articles and information, Jane’s eyes flickered. This wasn’t true. It just wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.

"Just tell them Sherlock, it's all coming out now." Moriarty continued.

Sherlock hated this. He hated watch Jane sink into the lie, while all he could do is stand there. Moriarty's eyes gleamed with delight as he continued to push on.

"Just tell them, tell them! Tell her!!"

When Sherlock moved to Moriarty, he gave a little scream and backed away.   
“No, no, no!! Don’t touch me, don’t hurt me!!”

"STOP IT NOW!!" Sherlock roared.  
Dashing away, Moriarty locked the washroom. Kicking it open, Sherlock saw the open window. Turning, he went to run out the other way. Blocking him, Kitty smiled devilishly.   
“I can read you now, I can read you like an open book. And you repel me.”

Dashing out into the street, Sherlock looked for any sight of Moriarty-but there were none.   
“He-has planned this all-from the beginning! He’s been sewing this into people, and the last step to complete the game is-” Stopping, Sherlock’s mouth fell open. Oh.

“Sherlock? What is it?”  
“Nothing. There’s something I have to do, alone.” Sherlock said quietly, adjusting his coat collar.  
“Where will I go?”  
“As you remind me constantly, you’re an army doctor. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”   
As he walked away, Jane’s brow furrowed as he disappeared out of the limelight.

Sure, Moriarty was the one who gave the interview. But how did he get the information? He couldn’t have known it unless…  
***

Tired, Mycroft walked to the office. It was upsetting to hear that Moriarty was unraveling his plan at long last. But what was he planning? Driving Sherlock to his death? Mycroft hated to admit it to himself, but he did not know. Entering his office, he felt cold. With an eerie calmness sat Jane Watson.

"May I inquire as to why you are here at this hour?" Mycroft asked, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise.

"Why do you think I'm here?" Jane asked in a patronizing tone. 

"I can imagine it is relating to Sherlock."  
"You imagine correctly. Now, how much did you tell Moriarty?" 

"Tell him what?" Mycroft blinked, pretending to be confused by the question.   
"That's a good question. Because somehow, Sherlock has some stories about him that have been leaked to the public. I doubt your parents know the story. In fact...thinking about it." Jane put her hand to her chin as if she had to put two and two together. "...The only people who know the truth about Sherlock are you and I. And I sure didn't tell anyone about his past. So that means, you had to have said something. And don't lie. I hate,  _hate_ , being lied to by people."

"Not long ago, we had Moriarty in custody. He had information we needed. So, we used...persuasion. But no matter how much persuasion we used, he wouldn't speak. Would just look off into space...but he would respond to me."

"And in exchange for the information he had, you would _tell_ Moriarty this stuff about Sherlock?"  
Jaw in a hard line, Mycroft looked away.

"Unbelievable. The only brother you have, and you used him as a chess piece. So-to be clear, when you asked me to watch out for Sherlock, you meant that you messed up badly, and wanted me to pick up the pieces."  
"I-I-merely-I had no intention."  
"This is why Sherlock has trust issues. Because of monsters like you. You betrayed your brother to a spider. Let that sink in, hm?" Pushing out of her seat, Jane stalked to the door.  
"Tell him I'm sorry."   
Giving a Mycroft a disgusted look, Jane hurried away.

"Tell him that, won't you?" 

***

Massaging her sore shoulder, Molly tiredly packed her things into her duffel. She was rather looking forward to her three days off, and was ready to go home, get into the bath, and maybe watch some Telly…  
“You were right you know.”  
Gasping, her hand flew to her chest, her heart pounding. Sherlock was standing there, nearly shrouded in darkness.   
“Right? Right about what?” She asked, her hands shaking from the shock.   
“The truth is…I’m not okay.”  
“What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong!” Molly cried, stepping to him. Was he injured, shot at? Was Jane okay?  
“Molly…I think I am going to die. But, I need help.”  
“What do you need?”  
Stepping closer to her, Sherlock inhaled deeply, then exhaled.  
“You. It won’t be easy, you could risk incarceration for this.”  
Expectantly, Molly waited for the bottom line.  
“I need you to help me fake my death.”

 

 

 

 


	11. To Die is to Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sometimes an act of common sense is indistinguishable from an act of genius.”   
> ― Amit Kalantri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to start by apologising for how long it has taken to update "Deal with the Devil".  
> A very unexpected family emergency came up, which has taken me a few weeks to deal with. I am just now getting back into the swing of writing after all the recent issues that have come up. Do not worry to much, things are starting to calm down again and will hopefully stay that way. The good news though, is I have published two chapters today, and I am now beginning to write the next story and some shorts. Once again, I'm sorry about how long it has taken, and if I did not reply to my reader's comments, I am deeply sorry. You are all wonderful and I love you!   
> Without further ado, I hope you enjoy.

 

Entering the lab, Jane had to pause. Something about Sherlock seemed so...forlorn. Sitting down, he was bouncing a rubber ball back and forth against a wall, eyes stormy. He looked almost as if he might break down and cry should you ask what was wrong.

"Hey..." She greeted him, sitting down next to Sherlock.

Nodding, his hand curled around the ball before tucking it away in his coat pocket. Hesitantly, Jane put her head on his shoulder and tucked her arm in his.

"We'll get through this. I just...whatever happens, I'm on your side."  
"Thank you Jane." Sherlock replied, his voice slightly ragged.

Adjusting them, Sherlock made sure Jane could rest comfortably on his lap. Eyes closed, Jane fell asleep a few minutes, still holding his hand. Maybe the last time it ever be in his hand. Maybe even the last time they'd ever be together.

Moving her carefully to the ground, he sat beside her. Sherlock felt angry and helpless. He didn't want to do this. Didn't want to leave her. When he felt his throat burn, Sherlock inhaled sharply and got up, moving to a chair. Now was not the time to be sentimental or emotional. He had work to do. Pulling his phone out, he started texting out the proper code words needed.

Minutes stretched on into hours. When the morning light had just begun to peak shyly into the windows of Bart’s Hospital, Sherlock sat back and waited for the plan to begin. When Jane’s mobile rang, Sherlock’s jaw was tense as she startled awake and answered.

“Hello…? Yes, this is Jane Watson. What?? Yes-yes of course, I’m coming.” Hanging up, Jane was struggling to put on her jacket.

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock flatly asked, not even attempting false curiosity.   
“Mrs. Hudson-she was shot!”   
“What, how?” Sherlock monotonously continued.

“I don’t know-by one of those thugs you managed to attract-she’s dying-she could be dead, let’s go.”  
“You go, I’m busy.”  
At his tone, she spun slowly to face him.

“Busy. What is this? You-nearly killed someone over her. She-has put up with you for so long, with all your experiments, violin, fights, noise…what is wrong with you?”  
“There is nothing wrong with me.”  
“For God’s sake, she is dying!” Her voice had a tone of anguish. 

"So what?"

Jane had to look twice at him to make sure she heard him right.

“So what? Sherlock…Mrs. Hudson is family.”

"She's like you. Just a flatmate...just my landlady."

Mouth falling open slightly, Jane shook her head at him as she stepped away from him. 

"What is wrong with you? Do you like it this much? Shoving away people who love you?"

"Alone is what I have. Alone is what protects me."

Looking as if she were slapped, Jane furiously shook her head. 

"No. No, you're wrong. Friends protect each other."

The hum of a machine and air conditioning filled the air. The clock ticked. When Sherlock didn't budge, Jane gave him a look of pure hatred.

"Fine. Be alone. Be that machine you think you are. See if I care anymore." With that, Jane turned on him and ran out. A few moments after she left, Sherlock received a text.

_'Come and play'_

The dreaded moment had arrived. The deal with the devil had begun. Getting up, Sherlock slipped on his coat and tied his scarf. Going up the stairs, Sherlock only hesitated briefly before pushing open the door.

_Ah, Ah, Ah, Stayin’ Alive, Stayin’ Alive…._

A morbidly peppy song was playing as Jim Moriarty gazed over London.

“Here we are at last, Sherlock. Just…you…me and our little problem. The Final Problem.”

Clicking off the song from his phone, Moriarty got up.  
“Boring isn’t it? Staying alive? It’s just… _staying_!”

Pacing around Sherlock, Moriarty continued the monologue.   
“My entire life, I’ve been looking for distractions. Distraction after distraction, and you were the best one. But now you’re just like everyone else-boring, ordinary. And now I’ve beaten you.”

Staring straight ahead, Sherlock felt Moriarty circle him like a vulture.   
“And you know what else? It was easy.” Shrugging, Moriarty continued. “Much too easy. You got my little joke?”  
“Richard…Brooke.” Sherlock slowly said, enunciating each vowel.   
“No one else seems to think it’s funny.”  
“Rich Brook in German is Reichen Bach. The case that made my name.”  
Noticing that Sherlock’s fingers were tapping behind his back, Moriarty smirked.

“Go-od. You got that too.”  
“ Every beat is a one; every rest is a zero. Binary code. That’s why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me; hidden inside my head. A few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system.” Sherlock explained.

“Last one to Sherlock is a sissy.”  
“But I can rewrite the code. I can rewrite it and bring back Jim Moriarty.”  
Face sinking, Moriarty began shaking his head over and over, clutching his head.

“No, no, no, it’s too easy! There is no computer code, DOOFUS!!” Moriarty screamed, spittle flying into Sherlock’s face.

_What? That’s impossible…_ Sherlock thought, staring at Moriarty.   
“But the rhythm…”

“’Partita number one.’ Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach.” Moriarty yelled, tossing up his hands.   
“Then how did you-”  
“-How did I break into the Bank, to the Tower, to the Prison? Simple daylight robbery! All you need is a bit of money and willing participants! Daylight robbery!”  
Of course. It all made sense now. Everything, everything to the Tower of London, the prison. He should have known the truth the moment Moriarty talked off the jury blackmail.

“I knew you’d fall for it! That’s your problem Sherlock, you always try to make the simplest of things really clever! Glad you chose this tall building Sherlock, because this is the way to do it!”  
“Do it…do what?” Sherlock asked, before closing his eyes. “Yes…of course. My suicide. The final piece that will make your puzzle complete.”

***

Running into 221B, Jane looked wildly around. No police, no ambulance. Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t have left Baker Street, so where else could she have been shot.

“Oh! Jane!” Mrs. Hudson gave a startled laugh, hand over her chest.

“You’re…”

“Did everything go okay with the police? Is everything sorted out now?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

Eyes wide, Jane drug her fingers through her tangled hair before rushing out of Baker Street. Sherlock’s apathy, how odd he was acting. The moodiness, unusual calmness, withdrawal, and life crisis. Sherlock was planning his suicide.  
“Taxi!!! Taxi!!!!” Jane screamed, pushing a man away who was about to enter.

Ignoring his snarled curses, Jane gave hurried directions to the driver.

“Don’t you dare die on me Sherlock…don’t do it.”

***

“You can have me arrested. Torture me, whatever you like. But nothing will drag the stop code from me. Nothing will stop the snipers from shooting your friends.”  
Friends?  
“Jane…” He whispered.

“Not just her…everyone!”  
“Lestrade…Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock continued, face paling.

“Three bullets and three victims. No stopping them now. Only you jumping will save them, and I’m not going to do it.”  
“So your story will be complete, and I die in disgrace.”  
“The general idea, yes.” Moriarty gave a cruel smile.

Looking down at the ground below him, Sherlock’s eyes darted everywhere.

“Off you pop. You even have an audience now.” Moriarty beckoned.

“One moment…one moment of prudency.” Sherlock requested.

He needed time. Time to pull a last resort. Time to prevent the possibility of him faking his death. Or real death, if this did not work out. Eyes lighting up, Sherlock’s lips curled into a smile. Slowly, he began to chuckle. Taking away the complications, you were only left with the simplicity.

“What? What?” Moriarty snapped, turning around.

“‘You’re not going to do it’. So, there is a rebound code or something of the sort.” Circling Moriarty, Sherlock continued: “I don’t have to die, if I’ve got you.” He ended in a sing-song.  
“You’re big brother and all his men couldn’t get me to do a thing I don’t want to.” Moriary flatly said.  
“But I’m not my brother. I’m…”

Unwillingly, his mind drifted to Jane. All the times she insisted that Sherlock was nothing like Moriarty, and that they were not two sides of the same coin. But they were. Moriarty and Sherlock were so alike that it made Sherlock ill.

“…You. Prepared to do anything, prepared to burn, prepared to do what _ordinary_ people won’t do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you.”  
“Nah. You talk big. But no matter what, you’re still ordinary. You’re on the side of the angels.”  
“I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second, that I am one of them.”  
After all, Sherlock could never hope to be Jane. He would never see the world as she did. He would never see himself as Jane perceived him. In the end, Moriarty was right. Everything Jane knew about Sherlock was a mere figment of the imagination.

Eyes boring into Sherlock, Moriarty slowly smiled.  
“No…no you’re not. You’re me…” Giving a tearful laugh, Moriarty continued. “You’re me! Thank you…bless you.” He whispered, offering his hand.  
Confused, Sherlock grudgingly took his hand.

“With me, you can still get your friends back and still live. Well, good luck with that.” Raising a gun to his mouth, Moriarty blew his brains out.  
“NO!” Sherlock gasped, springing back, heart racing.  
No. He never thought this could happen. He didn't know just how far Moriarty would go. As far as it took to send Sherlock over the edge. Prepared to do anything. Breath coming rapidly, the slightest stimuli overwhelmed him. Hands going through his curls, Sherlock could hardly breathe. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to. 

Sherlock stood on the edge of the building. Looking down, his stomach gave a flip. He always hated heights. How ironic that this was the way he'd go. Looking back at the bloody Moriarty, then at the ground below, Sherlock clenched and then unclenched his fists.

Watching the cab carrying Jane, Sherlock knew it was time. His index finger hesitated, before tapping the call button. 

Shakily, Sherlock stepped onto the edge of the building. Pulling out the phone, he watched the black cab carrying Jane pull up. Sighing, he pushed the call button and listened to her phone ring.  
"Hello?"

"Jane." He replied, a lead edge to his voice. 

 "Sherlock, you okay???”   
"Jane, stop, and walk back to where you came from."  
"What? Why?"  
"JUST DO AS I ASK. Please."

"Sherlock? Sherlock, what's wrong? What's going on?" Hearing the concern in her voice, he clenched his jaw before saying:

"Stop. Okay, I'm on the rooftop, look up." 

"What...what are you doing up there? Get down." Even though she was saying those words, they both knew what was really happening.  
"I-I can't come down, so...we're just going to have to do it like this." Sherlock said quietly, and let the situation sink in.   
"Do…what?" 

"Apologize to you. I...it’s all true."   
"What? What's true?"

"Everything. I...invented Moriarty." The words felt like bile as he said it.

"...What? You-you're lying."  
"I'm a fake."

Hearing her breath stutter, Sherlock cursed inwardly. Why, why did she have to make this so difficult??  
"Sherlock?"  
"The newspapers, they-they were right all along." Voice hitching at the end of his sentence, Sherlock cursed his weakness.   
"Stop Sherlock....you're not..." Voice cracking, she tried again. "You-are not a fake. Remember when we first met? You knew all about me being a prisoner of war, and-Harry and Clara, the first time we met, remember??" 

"Nobody could be that clever."  
"You could." Although he couldn't see her face, he could hear her voice. Even now, her voice still contained that faith and hope he had come to love. But now, it was the very thing that made his resolve quake, and his heart hurt. 

Huffing out a tearful laugh, Sherlock willed his voice to be distant and cold.  
"I researched you. I wanted to impress you, so I found out everything I could about you." 

"No, no, stop it. Th-this isn't funny Sherlock, cut it out." Jane was panicking now, the slight tremor in her voice betraying her.

"I want you to tell Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson...Rose, Clara. In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you. That I created Moriarty for my own intent and purpose. It's just a trick...just a magic trick." 

"Alright, stop it! Stop it now! Stay there, I'll come to you." Seeing her begin to run, his heart lurched. If it wasn't executed perfectly, then the plan would fail.

"No. Stay exactly, where you are! Don't move!"  
"Okay...okay, I'm staying." Extending his hand to her figure, Sherlock drew in a shuddering breath.

"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please...please, will you do this for me??"  
"Do what?" 

"This...this phone call. It's my note."   
"Your...your note..."  
"It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."

 "Leave a-leave a note when?" Jane asked, her voice quaking slightly.  
"Goodbye Jane."  
"No, no, please! Please don't do this!"

 He couldn't.  
"Don't. Please." She whispered.

 Hanging up, he threw the phone to the ground with a clatter.

He never knew what it was like. Never knew what it was to have someone who always believed in him, no matter how bleak it was. For someone to see him more than a source of intelligence. Who genuinely understood him. And Jane Watson was the one person he never wanted to disappoint, never let down. And now...he was betraying her. Abandoning her. But what else could he do? Stay, and let her die? No. For her, he was prepared to do anything. 

For the first time in his life, as he stood at the edge, did Sherlock truly know what it was like to love. To love someone to the point of dying. There was no going back now. 

"Sherlock!!!" Jane shrieked.  
Extending his arms, Sherlock let his body go limp, as he let his body fall over the edge. 

 


	12. Don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I love those who can smile in trouble, who can gather strength from distress, and grow brave by reflection. 'Tis the business of little minds to shrink, but they whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves their conduct, will pursue their principles unto death."-Leonardo Da Vinci

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to start by apologising for how long it has taken to update "Deal with the Devil".  
> A very unexpected family emergency came up, which has taken me a few weeks to deal with. I am just now getting back into the swing of writing after all the recent issues that have come up. Do not worry to much, things are starting to calm down again and will hopefully stay that way. The good news though, is I have published two chapters today, and I am now beginning to write the next story and some shorts. Once again, I'm sorry about how long it has taken, and if I did not reply to my reader's comments, I am deeply sorry. You are all wonderful and I love you!   
> Without further ado, I hope you enjoy.

_"Goodbye Jane."_

It all was like it happened slow motion.

Sherlock, falling to his death while Jane could do nothing but watch in horror.

After watching his body hit the pavement with a sickening crunch, Jane felt the world spin, and as if her feet moved on her own, she ran toward the growing crowd, only to be struck down by a bike in the confusion. 

After getting to her feet again, she felt herself push through the crowd.

"Let me through! Let me through please, he's my friend! He's-he's my friend!" She shouted, dropping to her knees beside Sherlock. He was her everything. 

Looking at his deathly white hand, she numbly searched his wrist to find anything that would indicate he was alive.

When she felt nothing but cold and stiff skin, she felt a warm hand pull her own away from Sherlock's.

"He's dead...let go...let go please." She heard a nurse say gently, pulling her hand away. 

"Oh no...Please no." She whispered hoarsely.  

Breath coming faster, Jane watched them slowly turn Sherlock body to where his back was on the pavement thought. His black curls dragged in the murky water and blood, and the horrible truth faced Jane now. His ashen face was even more so by the crimson blood spattered all across it. His blue eyes were ten times brighter. She had never seen Sherlock so clearly before.

Slumping back, emotion flickered across Jane's eyes but she quickly blinked it away. Had to keep it together. It was difficult, yes, but she had to keep herself together.

"I'm...okay. Really, I'm okay." Jane assured a nurse.   
Standing to her feet, Jane registered the feeling of cold rain on her hair and neck. Eyes still trained to the spot where Sherlock had been carted away, she resisted the urge to shriek into the bustling street of police, hospital staff, and terrified onlookers.

***

"Okay, we're done here." Lestrade tiredly said, ending the session.

Nodding, Jane looked at her cold cup of coffee.  
"You okay?" Lestrade asked suddenly, making her head snap up.

Anything but fine. Jane wanted nothing more than to sink to the floor and disappear. To pretend that she had never crossed paths with Sherlock Holmes. She wished she never met Sherlock.

"Yeah, fine. It's just been...a really long day."  
"I mean-how?! Didn't see Sherlock...jumping. He...I didn't see it." Lestrade admitted, his eyes stinging with tears.  
"No one saw it coming, Greg. A man like Sherlock knew how to hide his emotions. That was just how he was." Jane tried to keep her voice steady, but the small tremor revealed her true feelings.  
"Same with you Jane. Look, it's gonna be hard, but...if you ever need to go and get a pint and have a cry...I'm here."  
"I appreciate it. Sorry, but I think people need me. I'm clear?"  
"Yeah, yeah. Go get some rest."  
"You too." Jane retorted, exiting. 

***

“Jane…” Clara whispered in a hushed tone the moment she stepped into the flat.  
“Hello, Clara. Hello, Rose.” Jane blankly said.  
Giving a small sob, Rose rushed to her aunt and clung to her tightly.  
“Is it-is it true?? Is it true?!” Rose screamed.

“Rose, Darling, Please!” Clara whispered, rubbing her back.  
Kneeling to face Rose, Jane nodded.  
“It’s okay, Rose. It’s okay.”  
“But-but-but why?! Why would he do-do that?! He-he loved you! Sherlock loved you!!” Rose wailed, sitting on the steps.

Watching her niece cry, Jane felt devoid of feeling. She could not feel, she could not think. Even as a swollen eyed Mrs. Hudson nearly crushed the breath out of her.

“Jane...if you need to go upstairs, and be by yourself…” Clara whispered, slipping her arm through Jane’s.

“Yeah, I think I might need to…just for a bit…thank you.”  Pulling away from Clara, Jane went into the flat.

Looking blankly around, Jane sank into her burgundy chair. Running a hand over her face, Jane kicked her shoes off and put her head against the armchair. Not looking at the vacant black one, Jane inhaled and exhaled trembling breaths.

She didn’t want to talk to anyone, Jane didn’t even want to think right now. She just wanted to rest. Just…rest. Curling up, Jane’s eyes slid closed.

_“Please…don’t.” She whispered._

_“Goodbye, Jane.”_

_She was in a crowded street, people whirling around her, the noise too loud. Looking around, she saw Sherlock. A relieved smile came as she ran to him. But as soon as she reached him, Sherlock’s head was laying cracked open on the pavement, his ice blue eyes staring up at her._  
Startling awake, Jane looked around before remembering she was in Baker Street. Shuddering, she rubbed her arms and looked at the clock.  
It was nine at night. Standing up, Jane stretched before going to the washroom. A nice shower would help, Jane thought.

After showering and a fresh change of clothes, Jane almost felt herself. Sitting down at the table in the living room, Jane decided she might as well open the computer and try and answer all of the comments that were mounting on her blog. Just as she was about to open her laptop, a small something caught her eye. A mug. Half drunk and cold, Sherlock’s favourite mug was atop a few case notes.

Breath catching in her throat, Jane looked around. Sherlock’s case notes, his books, one of his suit jackets on the sofa, and the violin.  It felt as if a stone had been tied to her heart.

Breathing quickening, Jane felt a rush of anger. This wasn’t supposed to happen! He wasn’t supposed to die! He was supposed to be here! Picking up the mug, Jane flung it across the room, causing it to shatter into a hundred pieces. Shoving his books and papers off the table, Jane sat on the floor with a huff, her bottom lip trembling violently.

Putting a hand to her mouth, Jane let out a small sob. Her entire body descending to the floor, her knees curled to her chest as her shoulders shook. She cried so hard it felt like she might vomit. Sherlock was dead. Just like that, he was gone. Just…gone.  
***

Waking up, Sherlock's mind felt quite foggy. As soon as he had fallen, he went into a sort of shock. The painkillers he was on had made him sick and dizzy.

Closing his eyes, Sherlock remembered vaguely Jane's fingers over his wrist, the hysteria in her voice. He wondered for the thousandth time how she was doing.

Hearing a knock, Sherlock watched Molly enter, carrying a blue and yellow mug.

"I don't need tea." 

"How are you feeling?" She asked, timidly setting the mug by him anyway.

Quiet, Sherlock watched the rain fall outside. It had been raining nonstop since he fell.

 “So…where are you going?”  
“Moriarty is dead, there is no doubt. But his web isn’t.”  
“How long? How long do you think it will take?” Molly asked.   
“Months, years…who knows?” Sherlock vaguely said.

"Jane...she...” sucking in a breath, Molly continued. “She is a very strong woman. Jane...Jane will be fine."

"Yes. Yes she will."

To Molly, it sounded as if he were consoling himself.

***

Packing away Sherlock's thing, Jane felt her heart hardening towards him with everything she placed in the cardboard boxes. She would get rid of every last thing of Sherlock's. She threw away the nasty experiments laying around. All the research that was written in those uppercase letters, burned in the fire. Packing away the clothing, all the way down to the last sock, Jane donated it to a homeless shelter.  

She cleaned the flat with a vigour that even Mrs. Hudson did not have. Scrubbing the kettle, Jane shoved it into a cabinet, never wanting to use it again.

Sitting on her chair, Jane looked at the black leather one opposite her. She decided it would be impractical to replace a nice chair, and settled on that.

    Looking behind the chair, by the window, Jane saw his music stand, his music still there, still unfinished. And right beside it, his dear violin. An extension of his soul, Jane had once said. How could she get rid of it? Could she honestly just put it into someone else's hand? Sitting up, Jane walked to the music stand.

Putting the sheets of music into a folder, she closed it and gripped the handles of the violin case. Going into his room, she laid it on the floor, gave it one last lingering look, before shoving the music and violin under the bed.

And that was that.

***

The funeral was uneventful. People came and went, and consolations were given. Jane was mildly surprised at all of the family members Sherlock had. He had come from a relatively large family.

 Yet, even with all the people she saw just how isolated Mycroft was through this.   
She didn’t like Mycroft. Not at all. He betrayed Sherlock, hated her, and had the emotional spectrum of a louse. But…Sherlock was still his baby brother in the end.

After the ceremony was over, leaving Mrs. Hudson and Jane, they stared solemnly at the grave.

“Even after all that scrubbing and packing, Sherlock still has so many things. His books, for instance. I think I might take them to a school perhaps? Even though you’ve done so much as it is, would you help finish the cleaning out?”  
“I…I can’t. I’m sorry Mrs. Hudson, but I don’t think I can go back to Baker Street. Not for a long time.”  
“I understand, Jane.”  
“The truth is…I’m not even sad, I’m angry.”  
“Nothing unusual in that! He truly was a horrid tenant! Firing guns, stabbing my mantle, the shouting, the experiments! And the nonstop fighting!!” Mrs. Hudson’s voice rose, tears brimming.   
“Oh, well, I’m not-that upset, I’m fine, actually. Why don’t you…?”  
“I’ll leave you to…y’know, say a few things.” Mrs. Hudson stifled a sob, a handkerchief rising to her mouth and hurrying off.

Turning to look at the polished stone, Jane inhaled deeply. To see his grave there, right in front of her. What was there even left to say?  
“You told me once…that you weren’t a hero. Sometimes, I did wonder if you were human. But I was wrong. You were human. One of the best human beings I ever met.” Jane begun, at first feeling ridiculous for talking to a corpse.

Listening to the rustling of the wind, and the smell of pine, Jane closed her eyes momentarily before continuing on.  
“I was so alone, before I met you. I never thought I could care about anyone or anything again. And for that, I owe you so much. Yeah.” Satisfied, Jane awkwardly patted the stone before turning to leave.  
At the last second, she turned around and stalked back.

“And one more thing-don’t. Be. Dead. Just for me. Just stop this, just stop-all of this!” Lip trembling, Jane felt a tear slide down her cheek before she roughly wiped it away.  
Steeling, Jane turned around and left. She was determined never to come back to this place. Never would she return to London, or Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes was merely a chapter in her book, and that chapter was over.

Watching the figures walk away, Sherlock exhaled. That was it, then. Whether he liked it or not, Sherlock was dead. And he had to use every second of the time left to make his death count.   
“Goodbye Jane.”

And with that, the solitaire adventures of Sherlock began.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And who feels like eating a bit of ice cream?? And thus, Deal with the Devil is complete.  
> Let me know what you think!! I will get the next story up in good time!!

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a short chapter to start off on, but it will be picking up in the future ones. Thank you for reading! You are all fantastic!


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